


Friends

by BeckyS



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyS/pseuds/BeckyS
Summary: One week after the end of A New Hope, Han discovers Luke is missing. On a bet with Chewie, and as a chance to get closer to the Princess, he goes after the kid - and learns a few things along the way.  Written in the 90s, this originally appeared in the print zine "Wookiee Rendezvous." See note at end for potential trigger.
Kudos: 6





	Friends

Han Solo halted halfway down the entrance ramp to his ship, the _Millenium Falcon,_ and looked around the hangar. No one knew why the ancient Massassi had created this huge room on the ground level of their temple, but it was ideal for storing and working on the various ships of the Rebel Alliance. The Corellian smuggler stretched, working out a few kinks from the first good night’s sleep he’d had in the week since the Death Star blew, and considered his day. Breakfast first, if he could find whatever chamber the Alliance was now using to feed its troops – probably the chief priest’s closet, judging by the scale of the place. 

He felt his first mate’s step rattle the ramp behind him and spoke good-naturedly, “I’m tryin’ to figure out where the dining hall is.”

_I will lead the way_, the Wookiee said in the assorted barks, yawns and roars that made up his native language. 

Solo smirked. He’d known the combination of Chewbacca’s nose and stomach would lead him to breakfast more surely than any map.

The huge furry Wookiee prodded his partner in the back to get him off the ramp and they walked side by side through the maze of X-Wings, Y-Wings, B-Wings . . . more wings than Solo had seen since he’d been kicked out of the Imperial Academy. There was considerable activity, and more than once they had to dodge carts that zoomed from storerooms to ships, dropping off parts to the techs who worked calmly but quickly to finish repairs on a few last ships damaged in the recent battle with the Death Star. 

He looked around automatically for Luke Skywalker’s X-Wing, and saw it wasn’t in its usual berth. The kid was probably out on a practice flight. Everyone had marveled at how fast he’d picked up the techniques peculiar to flying the little fighter and, in Solo’s estimation, it had taken just a few days for Skywalker to become the best X-Wing pilot in the group. He was a natural, that was for sure.

With his boundless enthusiasm, though, for new experiences – and _every_ experience here was new for a kid who’d never been off that desert rock where he’d been raised – he was also fast becoming a pain in the . . .

Solo’s thoughts took a sudden new direction when he spotted The Princess also headed for the dining hall. She’d cleaned up pretty well, and if she’d given up the white senatorial robe that showed her figure more than she’d likely ever guessed, there were compensations in the view offered by a tailored pair of pants. Especially when she was walking away from him, like now.

_Never, Han_, chided his partner. His surprisingly human blue eyes gleamed out from the same russet fur that covered the rest of his two-meter-tall body. _You’ll never get her._

He stopped in his tracks. “You wanna bet?”

The Wookiee’s expression changed to unholy amusement. _I would be taking money from a cub_, he stated virtuously.

“Then we won’t bet money. After all, when I win, that’ll be plenty reward.”

Chewbacca laughed softly, a quiet whuffing sound. _And what will I get when you lose?_

“Well,” grinned Solo, “in the first place I’m not _gonna_ lose, so you can name whatever you want.”

_I will give you until we leave this place, then when you lose I will name my price._

“Agreed,” he said. “Now let’s go find some food.”

They gathered their meals, one tray for Solo, two for the Wookiee, and looked around for someplace to sit. The Corellian spotted his diminutive target with some of the older officers at a half-empty table across the room. They were in a well-lit corner of what had apparently been the laundry, considering the stream of water that traveled from pool to pool across the floor. A couple of Tzalek stood on all fours side by side, slurping water noisily through pink proboscii. 

_No time like the present_, he thought, and wove his way through the room, his copilot a few steps behind. 

“Good morning, Your Highnessness!” he said with a crooked grin as he plunked his tray on the table next to hers. Chewie greeted her with equal pleasure but more restraint. One of the officers, a colonel if Solo was reading the rebel rank marks correctly, looked up in appalled dismay. _Too much competition for you, huh?_ he laughed inside. 

“Colonel, General, Captain, Colonel, Captain,” he greeted the other men cheerfully. “And how are things this morning in the glorious Rebellion?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned his best smile on The Princess. “Well, we finished the supply runs. Thanks for the X-Wing escort, they made great decoys.”

“Decoys?” Leia Organa raised an eyebrow. “They were supposed to protect you.”

Hurt at the slur on his beloved ship, he retorted, “Hey, Your Worship, the _Falcon_ doesn’t need protection. She does just fine on her own.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice, “Her Captain, on the other hand, could use a little help.”

“I’m sure the _Falcon’s_ Captain also does just fine on his own.” She turned back to the General. 

_Dodonna_, Solo remembered as he chewed on a tough piece of nutbread. A good man, if a little stiff. He’d handled the battle with the Death Star pretty well. Of course they’d had losses, that was to be expected when such a small, poorly equipped outfit as this went up against the Empire, but if Dodonna hadn’t held them together as well as he had they’d have lost a lot more ships and pilots, which they couldn’t afford. Then a familiar name dragged his attention back to their conversation. 

“Wait a minute, what’d you say? Skywalker’s missing?” The kid nearly drove him crazy, but Solo knew the Rebellion would take a huge hit in morale if they lost their budding Jedi Knight.

Patiently, the Princess turned back to him. “He didn’t come back with the escort. If,” she emphasized with no little heat, “the Captain of a certain supply ship hadn’t rewritten the plan, we might know what had happened to him.”

A pained ‘who me’ expression appeared on Solo’s face. 

_Yes, you_, Chewie informed him. _I agreed it was the best way to do the run, but now someone has paid for our improvisation._

“Hey, I never said I wanted an escort. It’s not my fault the kid couldn’t keep up with the crowd.” Solo sawed viciously at his nerf-patty. 

“I never said it was,” she retorted. “But the Rebellion takes care of its own. We have to at least determine if he’s alive.”

_This is not the way to win your bet,_ Chewie reminded his partner.

Solo glared back at him. “I’m not goin’ back. The way we blasted out of there, Triandor’s security sure knows the _Falcon_ now. They’d impound us in the first three minutes.”

_This is not making Princess Leia look favorably on you._

“I don’t care. That’s one thing, my hide is another.” He waved his fork, a piece of steak wobbling on the end. “I’m pretty fond of my hide, and I’m not gonna get it shot up for nothin’.” He stuffed the meat in his mouth and chewed furiously.

_It would not be for nothing. Already, the Princess is intrigued._

His partner stopped chewing and swallowed hard. “Huh?” he said, rather inelegantly.

_Look at her. Look at all of them._

He turned. The officers were looking at him with varying degrees of disbelief and amusement. The Princess, on the other hand, was staring at him with desperate hope. 

“You mean you _could_ do it?” she breathed.

“Of course I _could_,” he mimicked. “If I were crazy, which I’m not, in spite of what you may have heard about Corellians.”

A bemused expression crossed her face. “Actually, I hadn’t believed that particular rumor until I met you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Solo saw Dodonna stifle a grin.

_If they give us a different ship…_ Chewie began.

“No!” he stated emphatically. “I’d have to have the _Falcon_ for the getaway.”

“Then you _will_ do it!” She leaned over and gave him a hug, her radiant face tipped up towards his.

“Uh…” Lost in the warm pools of her huge brown eyes, he forgot how he’d intended to flatly refuse.

“Just like at the Death Star when you rescued Luke, I _knew_ there was more to you than a mercenary smuggler!” She turned back to the officers, leaving one hand lightly on Solo’s arm where he watched it seeming to burn through his jacket. “General, we have to give Captain Solo whatever he needs. We _have_ to take this chance to find out what happened to Luke. He’s the only remaining Jedi. We must save him, for the future of the Rebellion.”

Solo looked up from the delicate hand resting on his forearm into the amused features of the General. He felt a flush rise in his face as Do-donna spoke.

“Of course we have to save him, Leia. I’m sure we have a small shuttle we can loan the Captain for his return to Triandor. If he wants to have his copilot wait for him with his own ship on one of the moons, then all he has to do is retrieve Luke, make it to the moon, and he’ll be safely on his way back.” 

Dodonna stood, followed by everyone else, including, automatically, Solo. The General walked around the table to shake his hand. “Thank you, Captain, you don’t know how much this means to us.” He glanced meaningfully at the Princess, who stood closer to the smuggler than she had ever willingly done before. “As soon as we gather enough intelligence on Luke’s location you can be on your way. Better get your flight plans and supplies laid in.”

Solo sank slowly back into his chair as Chewie whuffed at him. _Maybe you do have a chance of winning her affections, _he laughed.

He just shot his partner a murderous glare.

  
It was a few short hours later as he was working inside the cockpit of the _Falcon_ that Solo saw The Princess making her regal way through the hangar. She trailed an escort in the white uniform of a tech from the Alderaanian Free Resistance, who hauled a large white carryall on one shoulder. Solo flipped three last switches on the panel in front of him and spoke into the intercom. “Okay, Chewie, that should take care of it. Looks like I gotta go have an audience with Her Specialness. Be right back.”

He disentangled himself from the various wires still strewn on the floor from their latest upgrade and mentally prepared himself to be gracious and thankful for whatever she chose to bestow on them as a parting gift. _Ahh!_, he thought to himself, _you’re not being fair. She may be a Princess, but she’s still just a youngster. It’s not her fault all the royalty you’ve ever run into has been more trouble than a motherless nerf-kit in a winter storm._

He greeted her at the bottom of the _Falcon’s_ ramp wearing another of his most devastating, if not completely genuine, smiles. He watched her start of surprise, then the flicker of expression from her original (and entirely too familiar) determined look to something warm and friendly, and back again to guarded. S_o there’s a real person hiding in there after all._

He put his arm around her shoulders, nearly engulfing her, and guided her up the ramp. “Come to see us off? That’s real sweet of you. And you even brought us some supplies, too. Here, lemme take those for you.” He turned back to the escort and easily lifted the carryall to his own shoulder. He leaned over to the man and whispered in his ear, “Thanks, I’ll take it from here. You can just go on back to whatever you were doin’.” He smiled as the tech sketched a brief salute and strode back down the ramp.

She was waiting politely for him at the head of the ramp. 

“C’mon in, Your Royalness, and I’ll get this unpacked.” He swept an arm in the direction of the lounge. 

Head tilted to one side, she considered him carefully, then allowed him to lead her down the corridor and into the open common area. “Thank you, Captain, that’s very gracious of you, but I can take care of it.”

“No, really, you brought it down, the least I can do is—”

“Just show me which bunk is mine, and I’ll do it myself,” she interrupted with a sweet smile.

He nearly tripped over his own feet. “Whaddaya mean, which bunk?”

“I know you have facilities for guests on this … ship, primitive though they may be…”

He had the distinct feeling she’d made a last-minute change in that sentence, but he waved in the direction of the bunking area and retorted, “Of course I have guest facilities! I’ll have you know that I’ve transported – hey, where are you going?”

“To put my things away, then I’ll pull the intel data you need.” 

He followed her into the corridor on the other side of the lounge, wondering if she’d simply substituted him for the AFR tech.

“Now, wait a minute, sister. No one said anything about passengers on this run. Chewie and I work best on our own.”

“Nonsense,” she stated, indicating the bunk where she wanted her carryall placed. As soon as he dumped it she started rooting around inside. Whatever he’d intended to say next was forgotten, his attention riveted on the feminine apparel she ruthlessly pulled from the bag. He knew what would be fueling his fantasies for a good while to come.

“Ah-hah!” She straightened in victory, holding up a small data disk. “You’ll need this to help you find Luke. Apparently, he crash-landed near the town of Odliaton, and they’re holding him in the garrison there. This contains maps, diagrams, duty rotation of the garrison, all the information you’ll need to plan an extraction. It was sent from a small rebel cell operating nearby. You’ll report to the Elder for any last-minute information.” 

He continued to stand with both hands on hips, tacitly refusing to take the disk from her, so she stuffed it into one of his vest pockets and patted the flap down into place. After watching her unpack her clothes, outer and under, her touch had a surprising effect on him, robbing him of breath for a moment. Unfortunately, that moment was just enough for her to get started again. She pushed him into the next room towards his own bunk and handed him the now empty carryall.

“Pack whatever you need, flyboy, and get over to your ship.”

He finally found his voice, using tones that had quelled bounty hunters. “This _is_ my ship, Your High and Mightyness, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

His words had absolutely no effect on her. She just started digging around in his drawers, pulling out shirts, pants—

“Hey!” He slammed the next drawer shut.

“Not for this trip, Captain. You said you couldn’t fly the _Falcon_ to Triandor, so you’re not. _Your_ ship is the _Manorian Syllvantor,_ at least until you get back to Triandor’s moon with Luke. It’s a small medical transport with reinforced shields and an augmented engine. It’s almost finished being prepped, but you’d better go over it to make sure it’s the way you want. We don’t have much time.” She turned away for a moment, took a deep breath and looked back at him, suddenly deadly serious. “They’ve scheduled him for execution.”

Their argument was forgotten in a heartbeat. “When?”

He watched her blink back tears. The kid was special to her, a fun-loving scamp her own age who let her forget her duties and responsibilities for a few precious moments. Solo knew it would devastate her to lose him; might even be the breaking point for her after the destruction of her home planet Alderaan along with all her family and friends. No one deserved that much pain, not even a Royal.

“Three days.”

He drew in a quick breath. “We’d better get moving, then.”

Three days, she’d said. Not a lot of time, and now it was down to two. It had taken a full day to go over their plans, get the little Rebel ship outfitted, and fly to Triandor. And that was a full day the kid spent sitting in a cell, knowing he was going to die. 

Solo shook his head, trying to erase the image. He had to concentrate on landing the _Manorian Syllvantor_, on easing down to the planet without security noticing. He’d flown ahead of the _Falcon_, and had given Chewie strict instructions on where to land on the back side of Triandor’s only moon. Once he’d managed to spring the kid, he didn’t want any confusion about their rendezvous. 

Solo mentally reviewed the information on the data disk. Triandor had only recently come under the control of the Empire when an Imperial survey team discovered the high metal content of the soil. One of the more peaceful societies in this quadrant, the inhabitants had made no overt moves against their oppressors, seeking rather to undermine them in every inconspicuous way possible. Somehow the new governor and his staff never received the freshest vegetables, the cleanest clothes or a peaceful night’s sleep, and their communications were frequently ruined by unexplained and untraceable interference. 

The garrison commander, a silk-smooth bully by the name of Kardek, was frequently called to the governor’s palace in nearby Bolaneston to “take care of things.” But as neither the governor nor his staff could provide enough information for Kardek to even begin an investigation let alone bring any natives to justice, his frustration would be growing daily. His relief at the capture of a Rebel pilot could be imagined. Now he finally had somebody he could legitimately punish, someone who would illustrate through his public execution that the Empire was not to be trifled with.

Solo followed the route meticulously laid out on the informant’s disk, sliding down to the planet on the night side. He reduced his altitude and flew low over desert plateaus and valleys for several hours until he arrived outside Odliaton slightly before local dawn. There was just enough light to see the town. It was surrounded by high arid bluffs on three sides that opened to a wide green valley on the fourth; a massive waterfall crashed down from the heights behind the town, fed by the streams of distant mountains. It sprayed fine mist a thousand meters in the air, obscuring the wide deep pool at the bottom and maintaining the lushness of the vegetation that dotted the streets. The buildings were created out of native rock and were jammed together, with various exotic trees and bushes filling the spaces between. A narrow, fast river ran through the center of the community, the residential area connected to the business and military only by a series of wide, arched bridges. 

Solo swore. The message had indicated that any pilot seeking the local rebel base had to be of superior caliber, but now that he saw the layout he wondered how anyone reached the safe landing zone. Well, obviously it had been done before, so he could do it, too. Wishing for his familiar _Falcon_, he banked away from the town, ran up on top of the bluffs, and headed toward the river that flowed over the cliffs. He rechecked his instruments, praying the coordinates on the disk were correct because he was about to start flying blind.

Blind and deaf, actually. The roar of the waterfall was audible even through the hull of the _Syllvantor_, and as he slipped over the rim and headed downward he understood the sense of the route. Aside from the fact that no Imperial would be crazy enough to try this stunt – and therefore would not believe a Rebel would either – the insanity of impenetrable mist, deafening roar, quixotic wind gusts, and the metal-bearing rocks that were flung ever-downward from the river above would confuse any of the Empire’s sensors. 

Solo changed his prayers to include a request that none of those rocks would hit his ship.

_There!_ He squinted, as if that would help, and gradually made out a slightly darker area just to his right. He angled _Syllvantor’s_ nose in that direction, fighting the gusts that threatened to smash the little ship against the cliffs. He angled up slightly and increased power as he entered the edge of the waterfall itself, this thin curtain alone powerful enough to slam any unwary soul to the depths of the pool below. And then he was through and entering an amazing cavern that had been dug from the cliffs by the never-ending chiseling of tiny water droplets. 

He followed the arm motions of a slicker-wrapped guide and settled the ship lightly onto the cavern floor, then carefully shut down all systems, grateful for the brief routine that allowed his body to calm after the intense adrenaline surge of the last few minutes. He congratulated himself on his foresight in placing the ship with the door facing away from the waterfall, but nonetheless received a face full of water the moment he stepped out. The guide threw an extra slicker at him, which he immediately tossed over his head, and then he was waved to the back of the cavern. Speech was impossible until they passed into a tunnel and made a few turns through what looked to be an ingenious labyrinth. 

Solo finally realized the guide was talking to him.

“… great flying, one of the best landings I’ve seen!” the man said enthusiastically.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” he said, scrubbing at his ears in an effort to stop the ringing.

“That’ll go away in a minute.” The man smiled and stuck his hand out. “Stiron Smitch. I’m your contact.”

He reflexively shook hands. “Han Solo. Is there someplace quiet we can talk?”

Smitch laughed. “Sure. Elder Wiljon is waiting for us – he has the quietest room around.”

Elder Wiljon was almost a carbon copy of General Dodonna. Not in looks – the Elder wasn’t quite as tall and had lost all of his hair except for a slight fringe around the edges – but in drive and wisdom. Solo could read the same determination in Wiljon’s eyes that he’d first admired in Dodonna. Wiljon, being a pacifist by nature, wouldn’t attack the Empire directly, but he would fight in many just as effective ways. Right now, the Elder was explaining the layout of the garrison and the plan they had developed for getting Solo inside. 

“Captain, we must first determine if the young man is still alive,” he was saying in the slow measured drawl typical of Triandorans. “There is no sense in risking exposure of our activities for no gain. Indeed, I’ve wondered why a simple young pilot is of such particular interest to your leaders in the first place.” He left the unspoken question hanging, for the smuggler to answer or not as he chose. 

Solo spoke slowly, weighing how much they needed to know to gain their complete cooperation. “Well, that’s it, isn’t it? He’s not just a simple young pilot.”

The Elder’s expression tightened. “The Imperials, do they know this?”

“I don’t think so. I hope not, or you’ll have more trouble than you can deal with. That’s the other reason we need to get him away. _Before_ they figure out who he is.”

Wiljon nodded. “Then we had best proceed immediately. Colonel Kardek is not known for his patience. Stiron, would you see that our guest has a place to rest and refresh himself? Captain, I am not delaying you; while you sleep we will gather your materials and additional information that will save you considerable time. And you will need to be ready, for once this operation has begun there will be no opportunity for rest.”

Later that afternoon Solo found himself agreeing with the old man. From the moment Stiron Smitch had awakened him there hadn’t been a moment to sit. The map table in his room had a bench that was set against the wall, but since it was covered with data chips and paper schematics he ate his food standing up as Wiljon’s aide briefed him on changes in the garrison schedule, the layout, and the latest information on where his target was being held. Smitch had earlier politely requested Solo’s jacket, and returned it with a patch over a new blaster hole in the sleeve, not too neatly sewn with a thin threadlike transceiver wire. Smitch instructed Solo in its use – one complete fold of the patch, touching the wire end to end, would signal they were coming out, two touches that they needed assistance. At this point, Solo had broken in to tell his hosts the comm code for the _Falcon_; when it came to being rescued, as good as these people seemed to be, he’d rather rely on his partner and his own ship. To his secret amusement, the Triandorans had agreed with barely disguised relief.

And now he was on his own. In a way, he preferred not having backup – he’d learned the hard way that depending on others was the surest path to having a plan fall apart. The people he’d been able to count on in his life had always been a very small group, and right now he figured that Chewie constituted the whole crowd. Sure, he’d help the Rebels retrieve their Jedi-to-be, for the challenge, for the name it would make for him, for the edge it would give him with The Princess. Besides, the kid might be an exuberant, irrepressible pest, but no one deserved the punishment the Imperials could, and likely would, hand out.

Dusk came quickly here; the long winter night would begin when, in the space of a few moments, the great shadows cast by the tall bluffs darkened the valley. A side tunnel had led him from the great cavern to a hidden door in the house of an unknown sympathizer, and he waited there until that busy hour when workers were coming home and people were going out for the evening. No one would notice an extra man merging into the crowd, crossing over one of the bridges to the business sector where all the restaurants were located. And if anyone saw him disappear into the plentiful bushes, it was common enough practice among young men everywhere to meet their sweethearts in the darkness for a kiss.

The garrison was formidable, as he’d been told, a single building probably five stories tall and who knew how many deep into the ground below, with thick walls and a few small, barred windows about halfway to the top. The architecture was old and functional; it had been the royal residence back in a less peaceful time when security was more important than graceful lines. But again the passive resistance of the populace served Solo. The side door was opened with no particular secrecy by a short, round man who looked to be a contemporary of Wiljon’s. He gave the agreed-upon hand signal, and Solo gave the return. A third movement by the Triandoran verified his identity and Solo walked boldly inside. Sometimes the best way to sneak around was to stride with confidence.

“Your friend is on the third level,” the old man whispered. “I will take you to a little used stairway, but that is all I can do. His cell is the third on the right when you come through the door.”

Solo merely nodded his thanks; to be caught helping a jailbreak would give Kardek an excuse for vicious reprisals, leading to death not only for the old man but also for his family and friends. He followed his guide through several silent corridors that were elegantly lined with couches and statues, separated only by wide archways that led into beautifully decorated reception rooms. The first floor was obviously for politicians and public receptions and created visions of the elegant warrior society the Triandorans had turned their backs on. They finally reached a poorly lit corner where a few wide steps were barely visible, headed both upwards and down. The guide waved him into the stairwell, then was gone into the darkness before Solo placed his foot on the first step. 

The stairs were in four flights per floor, ten steps for each flight, and Solo was grateful for his well-conditioned body by the time he reached the cell-block level. Thanking the Gods for royal paranoia and historical preservationists who had opposed the modernization of even the garrison, he slid aside the peephole cover Smitch had told him about and discovered he could see most of the way down the hall. There were eight doors spaced regularly on either side of the brightly lit hallway, and a small table at the far end where two guards stood talking. 

Solo waited patiently; the deciding factor on the timing had been the prisoners’ dinner hour. Wiljon had been told by his friend that the guards would be fully occupied delivering meals to prisoners on this floor and the one above; so as long as Solo waited until they’d finished here he would be clear of interruption for a short time. The guards didn’t expect any problems from their prisoners who were mostly either drunk or passive resisters, and so had gotten into the habit of slipping downstairs themselves for a dinner break. 

He’d switched eyes on the peephole three times before the guards finally finished delivering meals and left for their own break. He took the electro-lock pick that was part of the gear Wiljon had provided and soundlessly opened the door. Solo moved quietly, ducking low under the window in each door; none of the other occupants seemed to notice his passage. He crouched in front of the third on the right, then placed the pick against the latch. With a quiet _snick_ it opened. He looked one last time down the hall and slid into the room.

He entered darkness and had a quick impression of a square room. An unoccupied bench and a small barred window were directly opposite on the outside wall, and along the inside wall to his right, set back from the door about a meter and a half, was a ‘fresher station. The wall to his left was empty, and the one to his right had a single chain dropping from a hook embedded about a meter and a half from the floor, and was hanging directly over a bundle of rags. The cell was otherwise empty.

Snorting his disgust for operating on intelligence he didn’t personally gather he turned to leave, but when his foot scraped along the floor he saw the rag pile move in response. He froze, then turned carefully back. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the rags metamorphosed into the clothes of a young man huddled on his side in a protective curl, arms crossed in front of his face in the classic defense against a kick to the head. 

“Oh, no,” Solo breathed as he dropped to one knee by the figure. “Skywalker!” 

The only response was a tighter curl.

Solo tried to pull the arms down, but they resisted. 

“Luke!” Solo repeated. “Hey, kid, it’s me, Han Solo.”

Slowly the arms came down, still tense and ready to jerk back up if needed, until finally Solo could see his face. It was bruised, cut, and streaked with crusted blood, but the worst damage was evident in his shadowed eyes. This was no cheerful, good-natured boy. Exhausted, in pain, afraid but trying hard not to show it, there was no trace of the kid Solo had met a mere week before.

Skywalker squinted a little, trying to focus. Solo shifted into the moonlight and knew the exact moment when the kid realized who he was. The transformation was amazing. Hope lit his face and his swollen lips curved in a tentative version of the smile Solo remembered. 

“Han?” he croaked.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Solo smiled back automatically. “Stay put and let me get some water.”

He pulled the tail of his shirt out of his waistband and tore off a large piece, wet it at the ‘fresher sink, and was back in a moment. Skywalker was still curled on the floor but he’d settled a little against the wall. Solo gently lifted his head, propping it in the corner of his elbow, and touched the wet cloth to his lips. 

“C’mon, kid, open up. It’s not gonna taste too good, but it’s wet.”

He let Solo dribble the water into his mouth, then swallowed hard, convulsively. “Wrong,” he said, his voice a little stronger. “Tastes great.”

Solo glanced nervously at the door, wondering how soon the guards would return. He had a feeling they didn’t have much time.

“I’ll give you some more in a minute. Let me get you up on this bench.”

“No,” he moaned softly. “Don’t want to go anywhere.” 

Han paused, taking in Skywalker’s condition. He lifted the kid’s shoulders a little and helped him out of his jacket, then rolled it up on the floor for a pillow. He eased him carefully back down then ran his hands quickly over his body, searching for injuries. The kid flinched, and Han caught a strange expression in his eyes before he turned his head away. Guilt, fear, _disgust?_ He paused, puzzled by the reaction, but didn’t press him. “Looks like you’ve got maybe some cracked ribs and a busted up ankle, probably a lot of bruises. Did you crash?”

Skywalker nodded slightly. “Got caught in cross-fire … tried to shoot a guy off Wedge … got him, but his buddy got me. Almost made it, but my stabilizer blew and …” He coughed on the last word, his voice rough and dry again.

“I get the picture.” Solo squeezed the rag again and dribbled some more water into his mouth. “We’ve gotta get out of here. Now.”

“Don’ know if I can make it.”

“C’mon, trust me, anything is better than this cold floor.”

The kid gazed steadily at Solo for a long moment, then finally allowed his body to relax. “I trust you, Han.” 

_Now what did he mean by that?_ Solo wondered. Skywalker wasn’t usually this serious. Solo’s voice softened. “Okay, then. Let’s get you up.”

The kid was game. He bit his lip and didn’t make a sound, though his pallor increased. Solo dropped the rag on the floor, got under the kid’s left arm, and hauled him up where he swayed for a moment, precariously balanced between his good right leg and Solo’s support. 

“M’ready. Don’t s’pose there’s much time.”

“Nope, there’s not. Can you walk?”

Skywalker clenched his teeth and stepped forward. His indrawn hiss told Solo that his ankle hurt, but it seemed to be manageable. They hobbled across the floor to the door, which Solo opened slowly, hoping it wouldn’t start squeaking. One advantage of the well-lit corridor was that he could quickly determine that there were no guards. “Left out the door, to the stairway at the end, down two floors,” he whispered. “Then there’s three hallways, right, right, and left, and out the small door. Ready?”

Saying a quick prayer to whatever gods watched over Jedis-to-be and crazy Corellians, he stepped out of the cell. Their progress down the hall resembled a three-legged sack race, but they made it to the door in good time, and fairly quietly. He propped the kid against the wall for a moment while he picked the lock. As soon as the door was open the kid hopped into the stairwell and started down the steps, an easier task than Solo had thought since there was a sturdy railing to lean on. Solo caught up with him quickly, but was waved away.

“Do better myself,” he gasped. “You go ahead … make sure … all clear.”

Worried, Solo did a quick assessment of the situation and could only agree. He’d just get in Skywalker’s way and would probably trip him in the bargain. He raced down the first set of four flights to the second floor, stopped to listen, and when all he heard was the steady thump of his rescuee’s slow progress, started down the next set of stairs. 

He’d checked out the first floor corridor and returned by the time the kid, breathing heavily, joined him on the first floor landing. Skywalker staggered off the last step, wincing as he caught himself on his bad leg.

“Not much farther,” Solo encouraged.

A ghost of a smile was his answer, and he turned back to the corridor for another brief survey. All clear. He got under Skywalker’s right arm this time. It was a little more awkward, but kept his blaster hand free. They staggered down the hall, past a large darkened alcove where eerie, half-lit paintings seemed to watch their slow progress, then along another corridor, eventually reaching the doorway where Solo had entered. But by this time Skywalker was leaning more and more heavily on Solo, and his mouth was white-rimmed from pain.

“This ain’t gonna work,” Solo proclaimed softly. “First time someone out there sees us, they’re gonna know something isn’t right.”

Skywalker managed one word. “Drunk.”

Solo raised an eyebrow, and his hazel eyes twinkled in appreciation. “Yeah. That just might work. Okay, switch sides again. You stagger better this way.”

With a half-laugh, half-groan, Skywalker draped himself on the tall smuggler in the manner of one who really should have stopped two bottles ago. Solo smiled his satisfaction and they headed out the door, not too obvious, but not stealthy. 

_Smart kid,_ Solo thought as they traversed the third intersection. Only two to go and they’d be at the river, and so far no one had given them as much as a cursory glance. More and more residents were finding solace for their lost way of life in a bottle, and scenes such as theirs were unfortunately no longer rare. 

They were approaching the last block when Solo realized they’d never make it all the way back to the safe house. Skywalker was leaning more heavily than ever against him, but it was his uncoordinated steps that sealed the issue. The kid was going to collapse, and it would be sooner rather than later. He surreptitiously looked around for someplace to rest for a few minutes and his eye landed on the bridge before them. Or rather _under_ the bridge. 

“C’mon, kid, just a little farther,” he encouraged. His only answer was a grunt and a slight lessening of his load. He steered them around the entrance to the huge bridge, down toward the river where there was, if one looked closely, a narrow bank that ran alongside the water, directly under the span. It was dark, but that was all for the good. Once they were safely concealed from view he stopped and pulled Skywalker’s arm from around his shoulder. 

“Okay, kid, you can stop for a few minutes.”

The blue eyes were dull with pain and fatigue. “Huh?”

“I said, you can sit down now.”

Skywalker didn’t so much sit as slowly begin to collapse. Solo caught him partway and eased him to the ground. He pulled his shirttail out again and ripped off another piece, hoping they’d be out of here before he ran out of shirt. He dipped the cloth in the cold, rushing water of the river and gently cleaned some of the crusted blood from the kid’s face. 

“Not all of this happened in the crash,” he commented.

“No.” Skywalker winced when Solo dabbed at a particularly raw spot on his forehead. “I was introduced to Colonel Kardek on the way in. He doesn’t like Rebels.”

“I guess not,” Solo replied dryly. 

“Yeah, he had a great time showing me how much, too.” His voice was weaker, strained.

Solo shook out the bloody rag. “Look, I’d like to give you some time to rest up, but the truth is, we have to get you out of here, and the best time is right now.”

There was no reply.

“Hey, kid? Luke?” he asked tentatively. The pulse at the young man’s neck was steady, as was his breathing. _Great_, Han thought. _Asleep._ Well, maybe they could afford just a few minutes. He sat down on the ground and rubbed his hands over his face. Why did he ever agree to this rescue? It had seemed such a lark at the time. Once again, he’d let his ego get in the way of common sense. He was crazy not to bolt out of here right now, and if the kid couldn’t travel, well, he should probably just leave him behind. Winning a bet on The Princess wasn’t worth his hide.

And yet, he remembered the look in the kid’s eyes when he’d said _I trust you_. The devil of it was that Luke meant it. He’d put his life in Solo’s hands, unequivocally believing that Han could and would help him. And Han Solo found he couldn’t walk away from that. 

He sighed and looked out into the dark night. Judging by the position of the moon, he’d been with Luke for about an hour. Tonight was their best chance for escape – Kardek would probably increase security tomorrow since the execution was scheduled for the next day. He rose and peered carefully from their hideout. The streets were still empty of guards, but that wouldn’t last. Who knew what alarms he might have tripped while he was in the garrison. Just because there wasn’t any clamoring pursuit didn’t mean the Imperials weren’t out looking for them. He looked back at the kid, silent and motionless on the ground. He needed rest, but if they didn’t get out now their chances would only get worse. 

He wet the rag in the river one last time and gently mopped Luke’s face with it. “C’mon, kid, time to get up.” 

Luke groaned.

“Atta boy, wake up.” He dragged him over to lean against the underside wall of the bridge, where Luke propped himself upright with equal parts desperation and perseverence. Han winced in sympathy. He knew from past experience that Luke would be feeling queasy and disoriented, but the kid was determined to pull himself together. He was just starting to drag himself up straight when Han felt an ever-so-slight change in air pressure behind him, then there was an explosion of light behind his eyes, and darkness.

Back on the _Falcon_, Leia was starting to worry. There wasn’t any particular reason – Han had checked in briefly before leaving the Triandoran rebel camp – but still she was uncomfortable. The Wookiee was trying to interest her in something to eat, but her stomach was upset again. So much had happened to her in the last two weeks that she was having trouble maintaining the inner balance her father had taught her. Her father, who’d been on Alderaan.... She deliberately drew her thoughts back to the burning in her stomach. She’d been living on nerves and coffeine for entirely too long and her body was letting her know it. 

The giant Wookiee’s gruff question was easy to interpret.

“I don’t know, Chewie.” She stood from the bench behind the holochess table and began to pace. “Something’s going to go wrong. I can feel it.”

A tilt of the shaggy head meant the same in either language.

“No, I don’t know what, but we’re missing something.” She looked directly at the _Falcon’s_ first mate. “What if he can’t get out of the garrison? How will the Triandorans know?”

Chewbacca whuffed in concern as he set a plate of greens on the table.

She nodded in agreement and started to pace, four steps to the secondary nav station, three to the food replicator, four back to the holochess table and then start over again. “Yes, Captain Solo said we should stay here so we wouldn’t miss each other and normally I would agree with him.” She smiled slightly. “But don’t tell him I said that, okay?”

The Wookiee hooted in amusement.

“We don’t have any way to reach him if there’s a problem, and we’re too far away to help. I think we should at least move closer, get down on the planet’s surface if we can.”

Chewbacca tapped the comm station with a questioning finger.

“Good idea. I’ll call Elder Wiljon – he should know where we can set down. And since the _Syllvantor_ is at his base, if Han does make it back there with Luke, then Wiljon can tell him where to meet us.” 

A little more relaxed now that they had something to do, Leia smiled and took a bite of greenstalk. Chewie smiled back, a rather fierce expression, but she wasn’t afraid. She was just glad he was on her side.

Han woke slowly, fuzzily, and his first thought was to wonder what he’d drunk the night before. His second thought was a reminder to never drink it again, if he ever remembered what it was. He tried shaking his head to clear it, but the sickening dizziness dragged him back to darkness.

The second time he woke he knew he hadn’t gotten drunk; the pain in the back of his head was from a blow, not alcohol. That wasn’t the only part of his body that hurt, either. Something was digging into his left wrist, holding his arm in an extremely uncomfortable position. There also was a very bright light shining in his face, which he blocked with his other arm. He slowly opened his eyes and discovered he was lying on the floor of a cell – the same one, he deduced, since Luke’s jacket was lying a meter or so away – attached by a chain and a solid metal wrist-cuff to the wall where he’d first seen Luke. The sun was shining directly onto his face. 

And there was no sign of the kid.

He sat up slowly, so as not to irritate the herd of nerfs running through his head, and looked around the room. He wasted a certain amount of time and energy determining that the chain was firmly embedded in the wall, then explored its limits. He could use the ‘fresher and lie on the bench, as long as he lay with his arm hanging over his head, but he couldn’t get anywhere near the door. He also couldn’t see very well out the window, but the sunbeam on the floor told him it was morning. That meant he’d been out maybe six hours. Something had given him a pretty solid wallop that had raised a good-sized lump behind his left ear and also given him a thumping headache. He found the rag under the bench, dampened it, and held it to the sore spot. The throbbing gradually eased.

He rested for a while on the bench, using Luke’s jacket for a pillow, and tried to figure a way out of the cell. The sunbeam eventually shortened and disappeared, informing Han that it was now afternoon, and still no one came to question him. He was afraid he knew why. He’d hoped, when he found himself in the cell alone, that Luke had managed to escape, but as his solitary state continued he began to think that no one was bothering him because they already had what they wanted – the kid. He kept remembering Luke’s words from the day before. Something about what he’d said…

_…he had a great time showing me how much he hates Rebels…_

Han knew the type. Angry at not being young anymore yet not having reached the same rank as his peers, trying to feel big and strong by picking on the weak or injured. And sometimes people who had risen to such positions of power just had to dominate anyone they could. Luke would be an easy target right now. Heck, the kid probably didn’t have a clue what was going through Kardek’s mind. Then he remembered Luke pulling away from him last night when he’d been checking for injuries, and suddenly the disgust and guilt in the kid’s eyes made sense. Han’s stomach lurched and he swallowed hard.

Trying to keep his mind off the implications, he checked out the manacle on his left wrist. It wasn’t particularly tight, but also wasn’t quite loose enough to let him slide his hand free. He couldn’t figure out how the thing latched. He tried the small metal toothpick Smitch had sewn into the side seam of his pants, but there wasn’t any hole to use it on. He then tried various contortions, tucking his thumb as far into his palm as possible to get the big knuckle out of the way, but he just succeeded in scraping the skin raw. He was running cold water over his hand in the hopes of shrinking it just a little – he’d seen women get rings off their fingers that way – when he heard the door lock click.

He slipped back to his original position by the wall, not anxious to let anyone see how he planned to remove the manacle. He was sitting quietly when the door opened, but nothing happened. He was beginning to frown in suspicion when he heard a scraping noise, and a body was tossed into the room, landing face down and motionless against the wall opposite him. The door shut again, but Han didn’t notice as he took in the blood soaked strips of what used to be a shirt spread across the young man’s back.

“Luke!” he gasped and ran forward. He nearly pulled his left arm out of its socket when he was abruptly brought up short by the chain a good meter away. _“Luke!”_ He stretched his right arm out as far as possible, but was still an agonizing handspan short.

There was no response, not a whisper of movement.

Aghast, Han turned his attention to the cuff. He squeezed his left hand as tight as possible, trying to force it through the ever so slightly too small opening. He pulled harder, didn’t notice the skin scraped down to bone. The metal grew slippery with blood, his hand started to throb which set off a sympathetic pounding in his head, but still he persisted. He stretched the chain to the limit and let its solid link to the wall work for him as he strained against it. 

He checked over his shoulder, but Luke still hadn’t moved, didn’t even look like he was breathing. Kardek had apparently had a very good time establishing his superiority, and rage at his perverted cruelty sent Han into a near-frenzy. Luke could be dying – could be dead – and Han couldn’t get to him. He yanked viciously against the manacle, once, twice. His frustration built, his anger at Kardek and his fear for Luke grew, and all his feelings channeled into a third tremendous jerk. His hand pulled through the cuff with an excruciatingly sharp pain and, thrown off balance, he flew across the room to land on his back next to Luke.

Left hand paralyzed by pain, he cradled it in his lap as he reached with his right just under the kid’s jaw. His fingers shook and he had to hold them in place for what seemed an eternity before he finally detected a faint irregular pulse. 

He released his breath with a whoosh, but his relief was tempered by the knowledge that they were now in more trouble than ever. He whisked Luke’s jacket from the bench and spread it out on the floor one-handed, then rolled the kid carefully onto it, protecting the deep lacerations on his back from the dirty surface. He’d tend to those shortly, but first he had to find out what else Kardek had done to him. Luke’s complexion was clammy and pale under new bruises, his lip was split, and his nose looked broken, too. Han checked the ribs that he’d suspected earlier were cracked, angry but not surprised to find them now broken as well. He pressed on Luke’s abdomen gently, but didn’t find any of the hardness that might indicate internal bleeding. He knew, though, that didn’t mean there wasn’t any damage. 

His rage built with each newly discovered injury as his imagination supplied all the various methods Kardek might have used to take his temper out on the kid. Luke didn’t have any information the garrison commander could use; this abuse was pure sadism. And to take a whip to him as well—

He heard a soft moan, more of a heavy breath than an actual sound. 

_“Luke?”_

He ripped off a large piece of what was left of Luke’s shirt and rose to soak it in the sink. He held the cool cloth to Luke’s forehead and swore when he found a large purpling bruise on the kid’s abdomen. He’d seen a man die once from a kick to just that spot and it hadn’t been an easy way to go. He frowned. Luke was incapacitated, he had to accept that, and he’d have a heck of a time getting them out of here now. Kardek had done such a good job on the kid that he doubted Luke would be able to walk to his own execution tomorrow.

Han tried again to rouse him, but there was no reaction. 

He was going to have to call for reinforcements, but the timing had to be right. It wouldn’t do any good to have the _Falcon_ swoop in for the rescue when they weren’t anywhere they could be rescued from. He rose to soak the rag again and was forcibly reminded of his own injury when he accidentally banged his left hand against the sink and nearly passed out from the sickening pain. He sank to his knees with his hand cradled against his legs and waited, eyes squeezed tightly shut, as he ran through every Corellian curse he knew along with a few wonderfully creative ones he’d learned on Tatooine. 

After several long moments that felt like years the searing torment settled down to mere agony and he slowly rose. He held his arm at the wrist and took a good look at the damage. His left hand was covered in blood, several places around the knuckles still seeping. He turned on the tap, gritted his teeth, and shoved it under the water. His head swam from the waves of pain. 

When he could focus again he tried moving his fingers. He swiftly discovered he must have broken some bones in his frenzy to get out of the manacle because his thumb wouldn’t work right. He shrugged carefully out of his jacket, covered the kid’s bare torso with it, then took the other half of Luke’s shirt, minus the blood-soaked pieces that had previously been the back, and with the judicious use of his teeth managed to tie it around his left hand. Not the most professional job, but it might be some protection. 

He knelt again on the floor. “C’mon, Luke, wake up. Talk to me.”

The kid didn’t answer, but his breathing got heavier and Han could swear he saw his eyelids twitch.

“That’s right, Luke. Listen to me, you gotta wake up. I know it hurts – hang on to that and get back here. I have to talk to you, Luke, I got somethin’ to ask you, and it’s real important.” Han squeezed Luke’s shoulder gently as he tried to drag him from the comforting darkness of unconsciousness. He had to build a connection with the kid, give him a reason to come back, or he could easily just give up. Han had seen it happen before.

“Hey, kid,” he called, and cast about desperately in his mind for something important enough to snag his attention. _The Princess. Luke would do anything for her. Yeah, that’s the angle._

“Luke, wake up! You gotta help me with the Princess.” Yeah, that did it. Luke’s eyes were definitely twitching now. He continued, “Luke, you have to go to Leia. She needs your help. Wake up, kid!” He didn’t have to fake the desperation in his voice, he only hoped Skywalker would respond to it.

And it seemed he’d finally gotten through. The twitching turned to fluttering, and Luke’s brow furrowed in pain and concentration.

“Han?” he whispered.

Almost lightheaded with relief, Han gripped the kid’s shoulder again. “Yeah, kid. Wake up, I need you.”

“… need me?” His eyes opened slowly, only vaguely aware.

“Yeah,” Han smiled in relief. “Stay awake, but don’t try to move yet. Just keep talkin’ to me.”

“Leia?” he queried weakly.

“She’s not here, kid, but she needs you.”

At that, Luke tried to sit up and Han almost regretted his words, but they’d worked. Luke was fully awake now, but his face had just gone completely white. Han eased him back to the floor and grabbed his hand – by the grip the kid had on him the pain must have been excruciating. 

“Luke, stay with me.”

“Not going … anywhere,” he responded faintly. His breath came short and quick, easing gradually but remaining shallow – additional evidence of broken ribs. “Wha’ happened?”

“Kardek, I assume,” Han grimaced. “We almost made it, but I think they blew up the bridge we were hiding under.”

“… drastic way to catch someone …”

That surprised a laugh out of Han. “Yeah, I thought so, too.”

To his relief, Luke gradually eased his death grip – he’d begun to think he’d end up with both hands crippled. 

“Han,” Luke asked eventually, his voice a little stronger but with a twist of confusion, “did you say something about Leia?”

A little embarrassed, he answered, “Yeah. I couldn’t think of any other way to get your attention.”

“It worked. But …” he paused.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Don’t let her get upset about this, okay? I mean, if I don’t make it—”

Fiercely Han interrupted him. “Don’t talk like that, Luke. You’re gonna make it.”

“Han.” 

And Solo saw the truth in his eyes, even bright as they were now with mounting fever. The kid faced it straight on.

“There are some things that can’t be fixed. You can wish with all your heart …” He closed his eyes briefly, “but that won’t bring people back.”

Han had a feeling Luke was talking about something else now, something beyond this room, beyond mere physical pain. “You want to tell me about it?” he asked soberly.

The kid turned to him again, holding his gaze, evaluating, and suddenly it seemed he’d come to a decision because he looked away, a long distance away. Han was surprised to feel a twinge of disappointment that Luke didn’t think he could confide in him. But then the boy spoke.

“Just promise me you won’t tell Leia.”

Confused, he replied, “Well, sure, if you want it that way.”

“It’s important, Han. She’ll feel responsible.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “If it’s that important to you, I won’t tell her.”

“The day I met you – the day I met Obi-Wan Kenobi – stormtroopers came to our farm. They killed my family. Burned them down on our doorstep.” 

Han clenched his good hand. He’d seen it before, he knew what the Imperials could and frequently would do to people.

“Why?” he asked, though he knew stormtroopers didn’t need a reason.

“They were after the droids. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru just … got in their way. They didn’t have a chance.” He paused and turned his head away, blinking hard. “The droids were with me. I’d let Artoo escape the night before and I was chasing him down. Ben found us …” 

He paused and Han waited patiently. He knew how broken ribs could steal your breath.

“We came across a bunch of dead jawas … then figured out … stormtroopers murdered them, and they were probably after the droids.” Luke tried to take a deep breath but it caught and he went rigid with pain.

“Easy, kid,” Han’s deep voice reassured. “Shallow breaths, nice and slow.”

Luke nodded and slowly relaxed. When he could talk again the strain was evident in his voice. “I took the ‘speeder home as fast as I could … but I was too late. Everything was still smoking.” 

Han ruthlessly suppressed his own memories. It wasn’t just the Empire that took lives, though the pain was the same. 

“So, you see, don’t you? You can’t tell Leia.”

Han shook his head, uncomprehending.

“They were after the Death Star plans in Artoo. I couldn’t tell her – she’d think she was responsible. And she’s suffered enough.”

Han sat back on his heels, turning that one around in his mind. Yeah, she probably would blame herself. And that also explained some of the kid’s perpetual lightheartedness. He was trying to cheer up the Princess.

He turned back to Luke. All that trauma and turmoil, the death of his aunt and uncle, then losing his mentor, that crazy old hermit Kenobi, yet he’d set aside his pain to do something good. And even now, he was more concerned for the Princess than himself. But that dark haunted look was back again.

“So don’t let her know all the … details here. Okay?”

He nodded, wondering if Luke would ever share those details and suspecting the answer was no. “Okay,” he answered, hoping to bring at least a little peace to those troubled eyes.

Satisfied, Luke finally relaxed. Han went to wet the rag again and when he turned back he saw almost a different person lying in front of him. From the first he’d considered Skywalker to be a wet-behind-the-ears, highly gifted piece of fluff, naïve and unworldly, but now he saw he’d vastly underestimated him. He might be young, but he had a well of caring that ran deeper than in anyone he’d ever met.

Han stood in front of the sink for a long time staring down at Luke, wondering what had happened to his own idealism. Had he ever been that young, had he ever been that _honest_? He dug down deep into his soul, examining his bared feelings, and discovered, slightly to his surprise, that the young dreamer still existed deep in his heart. 

He looked at the kid on the floor and tried desperately to come up with a plan to get them back to the cave, but eventually was forced to accept that the only way to save him was to leave him behind. And the dreamer saw that the course that only hours ago had seemed reasonable and sane, now that it was the only option, was shameful, dishonorable.

“Look, Luke …” he started.

When he didn’t continue, Luke turned his head slightly to see him better. Han felt miserable. “I don’t know how I’m gonna get you out of here. You can’t do it under your own speed, and,” he raised his mangled left hand, “I can’t help you.”

Luke gazed at him steadily, and Han knew the kid had already figured that out.

“I’ll come back for you, I promise,” he said, hating himself. “Really, I’ll get you out of here.”

Luke raised one hand in denial. “I know you’ll do everything you can. Beyond that, well, whatever happens,” and Han could see in his drawn face his fear of being in Kardek’s power again, “don’t blame yourself.”

Han started forward, stopped, self preservation warring with something better from deep in his soul. He squeezed his eyes and his good right hand shut, trying to find his way …

He couldn’t stand it. He dropped to one knee by the kid’s side, took his hand in a formal Corellian grip that he’d long ago determined to forget, and dredged up every stagnant ounce of rusty commitment from his soul. “I swear, Luke, I’ll get you out of this.” 

Luke regarded him quietly, fever beginning to give color to his cheeks. Han held his breath, afraid the kid didn’t believe him, then Luke’s bruised lips quirked in a small smile. “I hope so, Solo. I hoped to see more of the galaxy than this planet.”

Han let out a relieved sigh. “Wherever you want to go, kid, you’ll have a free ride on the _Falcon_.” He looked around the room, then studied his friend’s prone form. “First, I’m gonna get you up on that bench, get you comfortable.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think ‘comfortable’ is a word I’m going to be using any time soon.”

“Okay, _more_ comfortable. But first, let me show you something. I’m gonna leave my jacket here with you.” He lifted up the sleeve. “See this patch?”

Luke squinted dubiously at the poor mending job.

“I’m gonna put this on you so it doesn’t get left behind. If I’m not back by the time Kardek takes you out of here…” He paused and saw Luke knew what he meant. “If he takes you somewhere else, you can bend the patch like this,” and he folded it end to end as Smitch had showed him, “and it’ll send a beacon. I’ll be able to find you.”

“Got it. Fold it over, and it sends a locator beam.”

“That’s right. Now we gotta get you into this thing and up on the bench.” He slid his good arm under Luke’s neck, then carefully eased a bit downward to his shoulders – just enough to raise him without pressing on too many of the lacerations. Luke broke out in a cold sweat, but clenched his jaw instead of crying out. 

Han propped him against his knee and eased the jacket onto Luke’s left arm, pushed him forward just a little to spread it gently across his back. Han noticed more bruises and cuts on the kid’s torso. He’d apparently put up a heck of a fight when they were captured – there were even teeth marks on the big muscle over his right collarbone. Han steered the kid’s right arm through the other sleeve, then leaned over to do up the buttons on the jacket, but had to give up on the one-handed exercise.

Luke managed to fasten the bottom two but then gave it up in exhaustion. He whispered, “Knew there was a reason ... always wanted a big brother...” then sagged heavily against Han.

Overwhelmed by feelings he’d thought long-dead, Han studied the young man who now lay unconscious in his arms. Misty eyed, he slid his bad hand under Luke’s knees and lifted him carefully to the bench, then collected up his jacket and rolled it again for a pillow. He gently tucked it under his head and studied the young man, wondering at Luke’s faith and belief in a smuggler he’d only known a week.

His thoughts were interrupted by a noise from the corridor. Swiftly Solo stepped behind the door and waited. A blaster appeared first, held in a man’s right hand, then a tray in his other. It was one of the guards from the night before, bringing the first food Han had seen since yesterday. Well, Solo thought ruefully, he was just going to have to wait a little longer for his dinner. 

He hit the underside of the Imperial’s gun arm, sending the blaster flying across the room, then let go with a full roundhouse punch that slammed the man up against the wall. The tray went flying with a clatter as the guard sank slowly to the floor to end up lying almost exactly as Luke had when he’d been tossed in earlier. Feeling much better, Han swept the blaster from the floor, kicked the guard’s booted feet away from the doorway, then turned back for a last look at his friend. 

“Yeah, kid, and it looks like you’re gonna be every bit as much trouble as a younger brother can be.” He smiled and swung the door shut behind him.

Slightly over the height limitations for Imperial pilots, Major Alain Morhis had watched his treasured dreams of flying fighter craft at the Imperial Academy crumble years ago. He had since found contentment and a surprising measure of satisfaction as a ground forces commander. Lean and long legged, he had won his troops’ respect by a combination of physical endurance and leadership. His green eyes usually looked out from under elegant black eyebrows with an amused understanding of the oddities of the universe, but now they watched with trepidation as his Commandant paced restlessly. 

Of average height, and therefore at a disadvantage when talking to Morhis, Kardek made up in volume for what he lacked in stature. He stopped in front of his desk and roared, “And we have no idea where his collaborator disappeared to?”

“No, sir,” answered Morhis, standing at parade rest, feet regulation width apart, hands tucked neatly behind his back. He wondered if he should have let that irreverent fellow student talk him out of resigning from the Academy.

“It’s these damned rebels,” snarled the Commandant, raking a hand through his sparse brown hair, eyes glinting with anger. “They’re sneaky and underhanded. Never honorable enough to stand up like a man, face to face.”

_Honor_, Morhis reflected. He well understood his superior’s frustration, but it galled him to hear the man speak of honor as if it were a quality he understood. Personally, he liked and respected the Triandorans. Forced to accept the rule of a foreign power, they nonetheless maintained their integrity, their way of life, and managed to subtly undermine everything the Empire was trying to accomplish here. He had found himself in the middle of a chess match, playing against a master, and could only respect his opponents as he tried to beat them at their own game.

The Commandant, however …

Morhis was beginning to wonder if the man was entirely sane. He had no evidence he could present to the governor, but this latest piece of madness … 

He’d seen the two rebels when they’d been brought in, and as ordered had directed his men to take the taller, vaguely familiar one back to the cell and deliver the young blonde to Kardek’s office. He’d intended to check into the identity of the older rebel, but had been distracted by the sickening sounds that emanated from the office once the young man woke.

Kardek broke into his thoughts, speaking with a crafty smile. “He’ll run back to his people like the coward he is. Then, when they’ve built up their courage, they’ll try to rescue their friend. Yes, I think they’ve just outsmarted themselves. Major Morhis!”

“Sir!” Morhis snapped to attention.

“The rebel … schedule his execution tomorrow for high midday. We’ll hang him, right in the center of Loharis Square. Yes,” he mur-mured, moving behind his desk. He sat, finally, and walked his fingers across the polished surface. “We’ll parade him from the garrison to the Square, let everyone have a good look at him. Then when they see his body swinging all afternoon until the sun goes down they’ll know what happens to those who refuse to submit to me.”

Major Morhis swallowed, nauseated. “But, sir,” he protested, “the rebel will never make it that far. Besides the injuries he sustained when he crashed—” Morhis stopped suddenly, arrested by Kardek’s glare.

“Then get the physician to him. Prop him up, bind him up, pump him up with drugs, I don’t care, but he _will_ walk tomorrow or you will regret it. Do you understand, Major?”

Morhis blanched. He understood all too well. “Yes, sir.”

Kardek smiled. “Very well. Dismissed.”

Morhis brought his hand to his forehead in salute and held it until Kardek condescended to lift his negligently in return. He turned swiftly and precisely on his heel and left the room as quickly as decorum would allow, wishing all the while that he could escape his duties here as easily as the rebel collaborator had escaped the garrison.

Han Solo staggered up the path to the waterfall, soaking wet and exhausted. It had been a hellish escape, ducking into dark rooms and behind drapes, and once he got outside, leaping behind bushes as he moved from building to building. His head and hand throbbed in tandem while his conscience fought with his common sense over leaving Luke behind. He’d even turned back once, but a patrol had marched between him and the door to the garrison, so he’d reluctantly continued back to safety. He swore repeatedly, trying to think of a way he could have handled things differently, sure there must have been something he could have done, but once again he came to the disheartening conclusion that there had been no alternative. Knowing he’d made the right decision, however, didn’t make him feel any better about deserting his friend.

His friend. When did that happen? And how? He scrambled one-handed across the slippery rocks that surrounded the pool at the bottom of the waterfall, searching through the blizzard of mist and torrent of water that poured from above, trying to find the entrance to the cave. And all the while another part of his mind wondered and worried over the fact that there were now two beings in the universe that he cared about. 

He kept climbing, then without warning a stone shot out from under his foot and he nearly fell into the pool. At the last moment, he managed to wrap his left arm around a tree branch and, breathing heavily, regained his balance. He wanted to quit, to go back to the relatively peaceful life of a smuggler who knew he was only in danger of being blown up by planetary governments. Somehow he kept climbing, kept putting one foot in front of the other, and eventually passed through the curtain of water. Luke needed him. It was that simple.

Big brother, huh? Yeah, he could show the kid a thing or two. Maybe keep him from getting killed too early in this rebellion.

Which brought him back to his current problem. He needed the _Falcon_ and Chewbacca and they were on the back side of the moon, out of the line of sight for transmissions; and rebel communication systems usually didn’t have relay stations – they tended to get shot out of space rather early in the game.

The next thing he knew he’d been swooped up in a hairy hug that reeked of soaked Wookiee fur.

“Chewie!” he shouted with joy. “Boy am I glad to see you! How’d you get here? Stupid question, you flew the _Falcon_, but why? Where is she? How’d you know I needed you? And put me down, ya wet furball!”

_The Princess knew. She insisted we come, saying it had been too long since we had heard from you._

They were in the cavern, he saw, once he’d disentangled himself from his friend. Princess Leia was watching them from the entrance of one of the corridors where she wouldn’t get as wet, an amused look on her face for the Wookiee’s enthusiastic greeting.

Once he regained his feet, he and the Wookiee started toward her. She looked around for Luke, and he could tell the moment she realized Solo was alone. 

“Where’s Luke?” she yelled above the noise of the waterfall as he approached. Her eyes were large with fear.

“No!” he assured her, “Luke’s alive. I just couldn’t get him out.”

She closed her eyes, and, afraid she was about to pass out, he leapt forward, catching her against his chest with his good hand. 

_She has been deeply concerned about you and the Skywalker, and has not eaten or slept enough to keep a norwhel alive since we left the base._

He could well believe it – she was such a little bit of a thing to house such a powerful spirit. He called to her. “Princess? Hey, Leia, you okay? Don’t collapse on me, you hear?”

Her spine stiffened and she pushed away from him, replying faintly but with a thread of her customary steel, “No, I’m all right.”

“One shock too many,” he replied, his voice harsh with fatigue. “C’mon, let’s get where it’s dry, okay?”

He looked around the cavern. “Where’s the _Falcon_?”

_Tucked under cover not far from here_, Chewie reassured him.

Han preceded them through the labyrinth of corridors, one of the longest walks he’d ever taken. Fatigue pulled at every muscle, and when they got to the room where he’d previously slept he dropped onto the bench at the small map table and let his right hand prop up his head. He stared at his left, lying in its dirty wrappings on the well-ordered patterns on the table. The jumble of torn and bloody rags piled among the neat diagrams reminded him of when he’d first found Luke in the cell. He began to shiver.

Appalled, Leia stared at the filthy mess, too. “What happened— No, you can tell me later. Chewie,” she said, beginning to unwrap the bandages, “would you please find a med-kit?”

Han jerked his hand back, but she held firmly to his wrist.

“We have to take care of this. It’s obviously injured.”

_She is right, Han,_ Chewie informed him as he padded from the room. _We can do nothing more until you are rested. I will get you something warm to drink, too._

He blew out a long sigh and nodded, too tired and depressed to argue. 

She was still working on the sodden knots when Chewie returned with a steaming mug, the promised med-kit, and a large shallow bowl of warm water which he set on the table. Han sipped from the drink, feeling the welcome warmth spread through his body. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to be oblivious to the world for just a moment, but visions of Luke lying motionless back in the cell chased through his mind. 

The tugging on his hand stopped and he opened his eyes to see the Princess holding the bloody rag, horrified. Her fingers rubbed over a few letters that were embroidered in the military fashion on the corner of a pocket. 

“S, K, Y,” she traced. “This is Luke’s shirt.” She turned to him, confusion roiling in her eyes. “Why is your hand wrapped in _Luke’s shirt?_” 

“I told you,” he sighed tiredly. “I couldn’t get him out.”

“You saw him?”

“Yeah – I sneaked into his cell.”

Her words dripped with sarcasm. “And yet you managed to get out. I should have known.”

“Huh?” Now he was confused. 

She rose, eyes narrowed in disdain. “I seem to remember you saying, and I quote, ‘I’m pretty fond of my hide, and I’m not gonna get it shot up for nothing.’ So how much money will it take to convince you to go back?”

She thought he’d run out on Luke. He dropped his head onto his hand again. Well, he had. “You don’t understand, Princess.”

“Oh, I understand. I understand perfectly well. Mercenaries,” she snorted with disgust. “You’re all the same. The going gets a little rough—”

That was too much. He slowly rose, anger overcoming exhaustion. “You think I went all the way in there, through all those guards, risking my life as well as the Triandoran’s operation, then found a way into Luke’s cell, said ‘Hi’ and ran out again? Is that what you think?”

She froze, but stood up to him. “That’s what it looks like, yes.”

He spoke with furious intensity. “You don’t understand at all, Your Worship. We got out once, but he busted up his ankle in the crash and couldn’t move too fast. He about passed out on me at the river. And they caught us. Took us back.” The fury suddenly drained out of him, leaving him weak and shaking. “Took me back, anyway.”

She paled. “What do you mean? What happened to Luke?”

“I woke up alone in the cell. They didn’t bring him in for hours. Dumped him on the floor like a sack of grain.” He rubbed his good hand over his face, trying to wipe the image away. 

“They had me chained to the wall,” he stared at his bruised and still-bloody left hand, “and I couldn’t get to him.”

Her eyes widened in understanding. Shivering herself, now, she guided him back to the bench and sat down beside him, arm around his shoulders, trying to chafe some warmth back into him.

“But … he’s alive, you said?”

“Yeah.”

She grabbed his arm in desperation. “Then why didn’t you bring him out? They’re going to hang him!”

Goaded beyond control, he retorted, “Cause the trip would have killed him – saved the Imperials the trouble!”

Ashen, eyes huge, she sank back on the seat and whispered, “What did they do to him?”

He chose not to answer directly. “I promised I’d go back for him as soon as I could get some help.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in denial. “He said if I didn’t make it, he’d understand.”

The heavy silence that followed his words was broken only by the muffled footsteps of a Triandoran passing through the hall outside. 

Finally, Chewbacca spoke. _We will help,_ he said. _We will rescue him. And I know you would not have left him if there had been any choice._

Han looked up at his copilot in gratitude. “Thanks, pal. That means a lot.”

He turned back to the Princess who was rooting through the medkit, head ducked. She didn’t look at him as she pulled out the antiseptic and dumped it in the water, instead concentrating solely on treating his hand. Grimly she soaked it in the warm water – an experience almost as unpleasant as the original injury – then gently spread ointment over the abrasions and covered them. She carefully supported his palm on a brace and wrapped his entire hand in clean plas-bandage which would harden shortly into a protective shell. Once he thought he saw a tear glimmer in her eye, but by the time she finished she was back in control. 

“Take care of that hand, Captain,” she said briskly. “You’re going to need it tomorrow.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She finally looked at him straight on. “When we rescue Luke.”

He smiled at her.

The sun rose on a cool clear morning, mist from the waterfall rising like a cloud of magic fog into the pale dawn sky. Luke Skywalker stood on his sound foot on the end of his sleeping bench and gazed out the window, taking in the magnificence of the valley for the first time. He inhaled deeply, appreciating the sensation of fresh clean air rushing into his lungs, clearing the last remnants of the muddled disorientation that had plagued him ever since he’d crashed on this planet.

The treatments the doctor had given him the night before had helped – yesterday that deep breath would have cost him severely. He knew he wasn’t well, he had alternated shivers and sweat all night, but decided to ignore the facts and simply enjoy the moment. He didn’t want to think about the last four days, and ‘later’ would take care of itself soon enough. 

He looked up into the blue sky and wondered if Han had taken off for the stars. His thoughts settled on the Corellian, pondering the currents of fate that had given him a friend when he so badly needed one. Perhaps Ben was right, he thought. The Force was present, helping him, guiding him, if he could just find that marvelous sense of oneness with the galaxy he’d felt in the Death Star trench. He closed his eyes and searched for that feeling again. His heart calmed, his breathing slowed, and eventually he felt some measure of peace within himself. Solo would return. Whether through the Force, intuition, or blind faith, he knew Han would come for him.

He only gradually became aware of a disturbance somewhere below and, curious, peered down into the shadows that still darkened the alleys between buildings. A man dashed from one building to the next, blending into the darkness like a womp rat going to ground in a dune. Luke stood on his toes, trying to see better, but the man was gone. Then a loud blast shattered the peaceful morning and dust rose like the waterfall mist from the far end of the parade ground. 

Chaos broke out; a few soldiers ran drunkenly away from the blast area, others ran with controlled purpose toward it. Luke couldn’t see the damaged area, though he pulled himself right up to the bars of the window. The figures below were just beginning to sort themselves into something organized when Luke heard noises at his door. He sat down on the bench, trying to look weak and helpless as two guards entered his cell. He caught a glimpse of two more who stayed outside the door.

“Four guards? When I can’t even walk?”

Stung, the taller of the two responded, “We’re not guarding against you getting out, we’re guarding against that maniac down there getting in.”

“What maniac?” Luke asked innocently.

“The one who blew up the kitch—” The guard cut himself off and flushed, belatedly remembering he wasn’t supposed to be socializing with the prisoner.

“Oh. That maniac.” The corner of Luke’s mouth twitched in a hastily suppressed smile. So Han wasn’t in the _Falcon_ after all. 

Han ran around the corner of another building, trying to get to the door of the garrison where he’d entered before. He got lost in someone’s backyard fern-forest, then consciously slowed his breathing to walk casually across a street full of troopers, left hand stuck in the pocket of an oversized jacket, borrowed for the occasion by the ever-present and useful Smitch. He just hoped the troopers would be too preoccupied to notice that the bulge was too large for a regular hand. He circled around a block that contained a ladies’ restaurant and an upscale toy store. Neither would be doing much business this morning, judging by the dust that was settling everywhere. Well, he’d wanted a diversion.

But the diversion, excellent as it had been, wasn’t doing the job. The guards at this end of the building stayed on duty, two of them standing in the very doorway he needed. Han had known too many of the students in his short tenure at the Academy to believe the hype that all Imperials were lax and immoral, but it was just his luck that he’d run into an operation run by one of the good ones. Well, it had been worth a try. He melted back into the remaining shadows and disappeared.

Major Morhis had a problem. He’d been ordered by a superior he didn’t respect to unlawfully execute a prisoner who could barely walk, which act would rile a populace that so far had only peacefully protested the Imperial presence. If he didn’t go through with the execution, preceded by the bizarre parade the Commandant had ordered, then he and his family back on Coruscant would likely be executed right after the Rebel. 

He sighed as he marched alongside Skywalker through the winding streets of the business district. There really wasn’t any choice.

_Skywalker_, the young man had said casually, as if the Commandant hadn’t tried with every perverted interrogation technique he knew to elicit even that one piece of information. 

Morhis had arrived at the cell at midmorning, escorting the doctor once again. He’d waved off the guards at the door as well as the two he found inside the cell. He’d almost laughed at the expressions of his soldiers; one injured young man had four of his best troopers spooked. The rebel had been sitting quietly on his bench just watching the people who came and went, looking considerably better than he had in days.

Morhis watched the doctor patch the rebel’s injuries once more. It had been difficult to convince the physician to return to treat the prisoner. He’d raged at Morhis about the waste of healing people only to kill them. Morhis had nodded his agreement as he chivied the man out of his office and up the stairs to the third floor. The doctor’s family lived in Odliaton.

The swelling on the rebel’s face was down this morning after the treatments the night before, but the skin was still purpled and raw. With a clenched jaw the doctor spread a healing salve over the young man’s back. He re-wrapped the broken ribs and taped the swollen ankle tightly. After giving him a combination stimulant-pain relief injection he’d pulled a soft shirt from his bag. The rebel took it from him and fingered the material. He murmured a few words and, curiously, Morhis saw the antagonistic doctor soften. Then he swiftly gathered his instruments and left.

The Major closed the door and turned to the prisoner. “It’s time to go,” he said softly. “Do you need help …” 

“Skywalker,” the rebel filled in. “Luke Skywalker.” And that simply, the young man gifted him with his name. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall of the cell. Gradually the painkillers must have kicked in because his color began to improve.

Morhis finally inquired, “What did you say to him? The doctor, I mean. He’s very upset about your situation.”

A smile played across Skywalker’s face and he opened his eyes to stare with a strange challenge at Morhis. “I told him if he patched me up I had a better chance to escape.”

That surprised a snort of laughter from Morhis. He nodded once and extended a hand to help the rebel to his feet. 

The young man’s eyes went flat. 

Morhis remembered the sounds he’d overheard coming from Kardek’s interrogation. He somberly started to withdraw his hand, but the strangeness left Skywalker’s expression as if it had never existed, and he reached out after all to allow himself to be pulled up. 

“Thanks,” Skywalker said. And that was the last word he had uttered. The trip down the stairs, through the hallways, and out into the sunshine had been accomplished without a sound. Only the sight of the rubble-strewn courtyard generated a wordless comment and a half smile.

Now they walked side by side over one of the arched bridges. Four troopers in front and four behind made an impressive display of strength, implying the rebel was more dangerous than he really was. As Morhis reached the apex of the bridge he looked out onto Loharis plaza and even from two blocks away could discern the chilling sight of the scaffold, center stage among a quiet crowd. It was an ugly thing, hastily knocked together from gray wood, the platform about two meters by three, and fully five off the ground. A narrow staircase led up to the top where Commander Kardek stood at parade rest, watching for his prize. Support timbers rose from either side of the platform and held a large beam overhead. Hanging from the beam was a rope noose. 

Skywalker didn’t break stride, didn’t flinch from the sight. Morhis didn’t understand why he didn’t at least try to break and run. The painkillers and stimulants were doing their job; he must know this would be his only chance. But the rebel just kept pacing steadily forward to his death.

Leia, Han and Chewbacca were secreted behind several vine-fern trees that lined a low-walled balcony on the third floor of a residential building, overlooking Loharis Square. Chewie had chosen the tallest and widest tree and folded himself into as small a package as possible. Han seemed comfortable in a crouch next to him, leaning directly against the short parapet, peering over it at the crowd below. The Princess was on her knees, easily hid by the tree on the other side of Han. The balcony, like all those on this side of the building, jutted out from the wall almost two meters, and with a one meter inset into the apartment itself even Chewie had plenty of room. 

The scaffold was a mere ten meters away, though facing to their right. They had an excellent view and it was unlikely anyone on the scaffold, or indeed in the crowd, would be looking their direction. Smitch had made sure they were well equipped for battle. Chewie patted his bandolier in satisfaction, and did a quick mental review of their weaponry. Han, of course, had his blaster tied at his thigh, as well as his small holdout tucked into his waistband. The Princess carried a military grade rifle that was almost bigger than she was, and he’d seen her tucking some small implements into her boot back at the Rebel base.

Chewie amused himself as they waited by trying to untangle some of the vines from around their trunks and comparing them to the great Wroshyr trees of his home forest. _Paltry_, he grumbled quietly, _but what else could you expect from a tree grown in a pot?_ He experimented with twining two vines together in intricate knots as he listened to his friend and the Princess argue.

“Well, I don’t know where else we could have hidden!” Han hissed. Chewie noted that Han seemed to be losing this battle.

Leia pressed her advantage. “Anywhere else would have been better than this. How are we supposed to help Luke from up here?” 

Han worked his mouth, trying to think of a comeback. Chewie wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t; the two of them had been at each other since daybreak. Han had held his own quite well until just now, but he couldn’t argue with the Princess when she was so obviously right. Chewie recognized it as well. Their location was defensible, was nearly invisible, and it gave them a great view, but how they were to actually do anything …

Then the crowd below parted and Chewie had his first view of the Skywalker. He was walking solidly, head up, hands bound behind his back. But something about him didn’t look right. Every hunt instinct told him the young one was injured. _Han_.

“Yeah, I see him. He looks better than last night, though.”

The Princess pushed a few leaves aside and peered over the edge of the balcony. “He looks fine.” She turned to him accusingly. “You said he was hurt. That he couldn’t be moved.”

_Drugs_, Chewie suggested.

“Yeah,” Han nodded thoughtfully. “Tranked to the eyebrows and probably some kind of stimshot to keep him on his feet. We’re gonna have to be careful.”

“Careful doing what?” Leia exclaimed. 

Chewie studied his partner. He knew that look. He chortled, surprising the Princess. When she lifted an eyebrow at him, he just bared his teeth in the Wookiee version of a smile and sat back. Somehow, she understood some of what he meant, because she merely gave Solo a quick, intense stare, then went back to watching Luke.

Morhis climbed the first steps of the scaffold behind the prisoner. He was amazed Skywalker had made it through the streets. Painkillers and stimulants could only do so much; by this time the rebel must be powered by sheer determination alone. Then it happened. Only a few steps up the narrow stairway the rebel’s weak ankle finally gave way and he collapsed backwards against Morhis, taking them both to the ground. The guards clustered around, their instincts assuming an attack, but the presence of the Commandant on the platform above inhibited them from actually striking the prisoner. They’d been told he wanted the rebel to stand apparently unharmed before him, and they had long ago learned to give Kardek exactly what he wanted. Morhis waved them off and pulled himself from the tangle of arms and legs. 

“Stay off the platform.”

Morhis’ head whipped around to see the prisoner staring at him from his crouch on the ground. The ice-blue eyes bored into his, trying to send a message. Under cover of lifting the injured rebel to his feet, the Major leaned over and whispered, “What are you talking about?”

“You can help these people if you live through the next few minutes. Stay off the platform.”

Morhis stared at him with disbelief as he grasped Skywalker by the elbow and helped him up, steadying him as he regained his balance. “Your friend has failed twice. I’m sorry, I truly am, but the odds against anyone succeeding a third time…”

Unbelievably, the rebel smiled and years dropped from his face. Morhis suddenly saw the boy he really was. 

“Never tell a Corellian the odds, Major,” he said with an impish twinkle in his eyes. 

The Imperial froze. The older rebel. The face he had seen two nights ago suddenly dissolved into that of a young, handsome, dark-haired devil with a reckless grin. Morhis had known him at the Academy – _Solo_, that was it. The corner of his mouth lifted as Skywalker climbed the steps alone. Maybe the boy did have a chance . . . 

Kardek waited in triumph on the platform, high above the crowd who would soon see themselves as his subjects, pawns to his wishes. And this young man who was slowly ascending toward him would be the agent to cement his power. They would see the rebel cower, would know their new master’s strength.

But the rebel wasn’t cooperating with his plan. In spite of his injuries and hands tied at his back, his step was confident, head held high, unbeaten. When he arrived next to Kardek he turned slowly around and a muted wave of sound rushed through the crowd. The sun turned his hair to burnished gold, a beacon of light that the people instinctively responded to. Many of them had lined the streets as he passed through, and they had marveled at his resolute tread as they now felt his peaceful acceptance of his fate.

Kardek moved to his side and touched the rebel’s bicep lightly. The boy flinched and he grinned pleasurably in response. He trailed his hand up to the shoulder, knowing his touch was hated and reveling in the knowledge that he could bring fear to those bright eyes. He spread his hand almost delicately over the boy’s collarbone, thumb caressing the muscles at the place where he’d left his mark, then slowly, steadily squeezed. His fingers pressed hard against the barely healed lacerations and with a thrill he felt the rebel wince.

He leaned close and whispered into his victim’s ear. “I can be merciful. Even now, I can save you.”

Under the bruises and cuts, the rebel’s face paled. He jerked his head away.

Kardek stepped back and although he was sorry for the loss of a potential playmate, he knew the next few moments would be ample compensation. He slipped a black cloth from inside his jacket. With slow deliberation he bound it tightly around the boy’s eyes. In a loud voice he proclaimed, “The Rebel has refused to submit to my rule. You will see the results.” Exultant, he struck his prisoner full across the face with the back of his gloved hand and knocked him to his knees.

And all hell broke loose.

Leia was sure her heart had stopped when Luke fell from the steps. Han had tried to prepare her, but she’d found it hard to reconcile the injuries she’d been told of with Luke’s steady, strong trek through the crowded square. Then he fell in a tangle with the major who’d been walking at his side.

“Han,” she whispered, “we have to do something.”

He stayed her with a hand. “Not yet.”

“But Luke—”

“Luke’s clearing the field for us. He knows something’s about to happen. I don’t know how he knows, but he knows.”

She studied the tableau before them and saw Luke’s smile break out like a sunbeam. With sudden realization she smiled too. “He knows you. And he knows you won’t leave him here.”

Han turned to her, startled, and looked back at the square. Then, with a roguish grin that turned her heart over he said, “Well, let’s not disappoint him. Get ready.”

Han’s respect for Luke had deepened as he watched him climb the steps. Would he be so calm if their positions were reversed? When Luke fell, Han had lurched forward as if he could help from this distance. Leia was right. They were too far away. He started looking around for a quick route to the kid, and for the first time noticed how Chewie had been occupying himself.

He turned back to the scaffold to measure the distance again and saw that Luke was now standing next to Kardek, who was running his hand familiarly up his prisoner’s arm. Han clenched his jaw and wondered how people could turn into such sleaze. Kardek stroked the place on Luke’s shoulder where the bite shaped bruise was and Luke went white, looking ill. He jerked his head away, and Han suddenly realized he’d misunderstood where the mark had come from. His gorge rose, along with a heat he didn’t take the time to analyze.

Without coherent thought, he grabbed the vine out of Chewie’s paws and slid his hand down it until he found a large knot, wrapped the vine once around the now hard bandaging on his left hand – _glad that’s useful for something!_ – and climbed up onto the parapet. Chewie jumped to his feet and grabbed the other end of the vine, bracing it once around his body. Han jumped off, feeling the improvised rope pay out until there was a sudden jerk and he swung under the balcony. When his arc took him inward to the building he raised his legs and pushed off from its wall with all his strength. Chewie roared and used his massive strength to redirect the swing towards the scaffold.

As he flew over the crowd he let out a Corellian battle cry, startling everyone in the square. He landed easily between Kardek and Luke, who was now a crumpled heap on the platform. Blaster shots whined around him and a panicked roar rose from the crowd, but he ignored everything, seeing only the Imperial. He threw his right into the man’s gut and with great satisfaction saw him blanch and go down. 

He turned to his friend and tried to lift him to his feet, but Luke could rise no farther than his knees. He swayed dizzily and Han was just reaching to remove the black cloth from his eyes when a blow to his left shoulder nearly paralyzed his arm. He exploded upwards, flinging the dead weight of his cast-covered hand in a swipe that connected solidly with something that crunched like bone. 

Kardek fell back with a strangled cry, landing against the support. He held his left arm tight against his ribs and Han knew he’d hurt the man badly. But Kardek wasn’t finished yet. With a grimace that could have been pain or pleasure, he yanked on a lever and Han heard the thunk of a door. He whipped around just in time to see Luke fall through the trap, five meters straight down. 

Leia had watched with disbelief as the Corellian disappeared over the side of the balcony. _That crazy idiot— _was all she had time to think, then her rifle was in her hand and she started firing at the troopers at the base of the scaffold. Chewie’s battle roar combined with the sight of a body swinging high overhead to distract the Imperials just enough to give her a chance. 

She shot one square in the chest and he flew back, taking an officer down with him. A second, a third shot disabled two more, and by then the crowd had panicked and the people in the square were starting to run. Two more troopers were carried away with the wall of Triandorans trying to escape.

She heard the sound of more blaster rifles and ducked. When no shots came her way, she peered over the short wall in front of her to find that two more troopers had been taken out, apparently from the barrels she now saw poking out of bushes on the balconies on either side of her.

“Chewie!” she yelled. 

The Wookiee fastened his end of the vine firmly to a tree trunk, grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to his back. She flung her arms around his neck, grabbed two handfuls of fur and hung on as he slipped easily down the vine to the plaza below. She had a whirling view of Luke disappearing from the top of the scaffold and they were down. Still riding on the Wookiee’s back, they crossed to the base of the stairs more quickly than she could have believed, but when Chewie started up, she yelled in his ear, “No! Go around and underneath. We have to find Luke.” 

The Wookiee rumbled his displeasure, clearly fixed on helping his partner, but she pounded on him and insisted, “Han’s alright, Luke needs help.”

Clearly torn, he looked up in time to see Han flip Kardek over his back, slamming him onto the platform with enough force to shake the entire structure. Chewie whuffed in agreement, stopping only to knock a dazed trooper to the ground. When they got to the back Chewie set her lightly on her feet and she scurried through the only place the cross beams separated enough to let her through.

The change from bright sun to darkness made it hard to see Luke. He was lying on his side, facing away from her, motionless. But after that stunning blow from Kardek and with his hands bound behind him, she knew he’d had no chance to break his fall. Her eyes adjusted quickly and she grabbed a knife from her boot to cut the ropes around his wrists. She rolled him gently onto his back and removed the blindfold, almost throwing it away with disgust, but used it instead to try to staunch the bleeding from his broken nose. Dust filtered down and the frame shook from Han’s battle above.

“Chewie, we have to get out of here. This whole thing’s going to come down on top of us.”

Chewie made come hither motions with his arms. He was too large to get in and help her. She grabbed Luke’s legs and pulled hard. She thought irrelevantly that it was fortunate he was young and hadn’t reached his full mass yet; she wouldn’t have been able to shift Han at all. _Just a few … more … inches …_ Pieces of the scaffolding were beginning to fall. A small board hit her shoulder, but she ignored the sharp pain and concentrated on dragging Luke just a little farther. She managed to get him far enough for the square of light from the open trap to fall on his face, then stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

His eyes were closed, impossibly long lashes sweeping over pale, bruised cheekbones. His hair, just moments ago a burnished gold, looked dull and as lifeless as his body. Then a larger board dropped, missing Luke’s head by scant inches. The support beams were beginning to lean. The creak of loosening joints gave her an extra shot of adrenaline and she heaved one last time. She climbed out the opening and Chewie shoved her gently but firmly behind him. 

She regained her balance just as Luke’s head flopped into view. Chewie had reached his long arms in through the opening, grabbed him under the armpits, and pulled him swiftly through. Luke wasn’t tall to begin with, and he looked like an exhausted child draped over the huge Wookiee’s broad shoulder. Chewie grabbed Leia around the waist with his other arm and ran as the scaffold collapsed behind them. 

Han’s anger settled into cool calculation. He used the cast on his left hand as a bludgeon, striking Kardek on the thigh, again on the ribs, and once, to his joy, on the head. But the man had the strength of insanity and kept coming back. One moment Han was wrestling him down onto the dirty gray wood, the next he found himself dangling head first from the edge of the platform. He had a crazy upside-down view of Triandorans running in all directions and only Kardek’s weight on his legs kept him from going over. He grunted and jackknifed himself upwards, then latched onto the Imperial’s jacket with his right hand and swung again at the man’s head with his left. Kardek leaned out of the way at the last minute, but took Han back to safety with him.

This wasn’t getting them anywhere. He had to finish it, and soon, or more troops would be coming and they’d never get away. He took a quick moment to check on the situation around him, finding that the plaza was clearing quickly except for a few Imperials lying at the foot of the scaffold. He had a brief impression of an officer dragging himself out from under a trooper when Kardek reclaimed his attention with a blow to his chin. He went down hard on the platform and Kardek jumped on him, landing with one knee in his abdomen. His vision grayed and the sounds in the square faded. 

He became aware of stinging on his face and his sight cleared to see Kardek’s black gloved hand finish an upswing –_ He slapped me! – _ then reach for his throat. Kardek was gloating as he closed in. Han pawed at him, gasping for breath.

“You thought you’d save your little friend. Well, even if you could, I’ve ruined him. He’ll never be of use to anyone, he’ll just find a dark corner and whimper the rest of his life away.” 

_No! _thought Han desperately. _He can’t touch Luke’s mind._

But Kardek’s eyes were bright with the gleam of madness and his voice rasped as he increased the pressure on Han’s neck. “The rebel was mine, and when I don’t want something anymore, I destroy it.”

_It? It!?_ For some reason that final dehumanizing of the warm, generous soul who had somehow become his friend struck deeply within Han, and a well of rage rose in him with such force that with one desperate heave he tossed Kardek off his chest. He backhanded the Imperial one last time with his cast and the man dropped like a stone, sliding and rolling down the steps of the scaffold. Han could never remember how he got to the ground himself; it just seemed that one moment he was fighting for his life five meters up in the air, and the next he had his forearm up against Kardek’s throat, squeezing the life out of him. The Imperial gasped and choked, but Han didn’t release his stranglehold. 

He leaned over Kardek, his nose almost touching the Imperial’s, and held Kardek’s gaze as he slowly increased the pressure. His voice was almost soundless. “I am going to make sure that you never hit anyone again, that you never whip anyone, drug anyone; that you never play your games; that you never … hurt … anyone … again.”

Kardek’s eyes rolled back and he tried to cry out, but only a croak emerged. Neither of them noticed when the scaffold collapsed behind them.

The dust had settled by the time Han rolled off the body. He rose stiffly, only to come face-to-face with another Imperial officer. A major. A major who looked vaguely familiar, but too many parts of Han’s body were beginning to complain for him to concentrate on where he might have seen the man before.

“Solo,” the major said almost conversationally as he held a blaster pointed at Han’s waist.

Han squinted at the man’s name tag. _Morhis_, it said, and memories slowly flooded his thoughts. He vaguely recalled taking a thin, earnest young man to a bar one night and talking a bunch of nonsense to him. They’d both been so serious back then. “Alain Morhis. Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Perhaps,” Morhis said, looking down at the body of his former commanding officer, then back sharply at Han.

Han realized he was holding his breath. He hoped Leia and Chewie had gotten the kid away. He could handle the Imperials better than Luke, he’d have a chance to survive. After all, he’d made it through Kessel …

“Perhaps,” the Major repeated softly, gloomily. “But not by me.”

To Han’s surprise, he holstered his weapon. “Go.” He gestured to the _Manorian Syllvantor_ which had landed in the now empty square. “Your young friend saved my life, I can’t take yours in return.” He prodded the body in front of him with the toe of his boot. “Also, you’ve solved a very slippery problem for me,” he smiled wryly, “and for the Empire.”

Han opened his mouth to say something, but all that finally came out was, “Thanks.”

Morhis nodded once. 

Han ran for the little ship, but before he stepped up to the hatch, a spark of curiosity urged him to turn back for a moment. Morhis was still standing where Han had left him, staring moodily down at the corpse at his feet. Then he looked up and gave his old Academy friend a regulation salute. Han smiled and waved his hand in the vicinity of his eyebrow in return, then climbed into the shuttle as it lifted off.

The ride was rough. As soon as the door sealed behind Han, Smitch lifted the _Syllvantor_ off from Loharis Square, Chewie crammed into the copilot’s seat beside him. Luke was unconscious on the closer of two medical cots set against the port side and Leia was on her knees beside him, trying to fasten a strap over his waist. 

“There’s a med-kit in the aft storage unit, Solo,” Smitch shouted over the sound of the engines.

Han had just begun to rummage through it when Smitch called back for them to hang on to something, anything. Leia wedged herself between the two cots, and Han wrapped the med-kit strap around his left arm and grabbed a handhold. He was just in time. Someone had noticed their escape, and Smitch had his hands full evading the laser bursts. Han managed to keep his hold, but he banged hard up against the bulkhead. He turned at the last minute and took the blow on his shoulder, letting out a soft “ow” that caught Leia’s attention. 

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “The kid?”

She looked down, worried, and touched the back of her hand to Luke’s cheek. “I think he’s in shock.”

“Damn Kardek to the seven hells of Koukiria! We’d better hope he’s not bleeding inside from that kick to his stomach, let alone whatever that fall did to him.” Han dug furiously in the med-kit and came up with a hypospray. He lurched across the heaving deck and managed to hand it to her before being tossed into one of the seats that lined the other side of the ship. She held it to Luke’s shoulder, the hissing barely audible over the noise of the _Syllvantor’s_ whining drive. 

“That’s all we can do,” she murmured, “until we get to the _Falcon_.”

“How far?” Han asked as he pulled himself upright.

She turned automatically toward the front of the cabin. “If we hadn’t run into trouble, we’d be there now.”

“Damn,” Han swore. “Chewie! We gotta get to the ship!”

The Wookiee roared his agreement and the little ship took a sudden dip to the left. 

Smitch yelled back, “We’re almost there. Get ready, we won’t have much time.”

Chewie extricated himself from a pilot’s seat that hadn’t been built for a being his size and staggered aft, using the seats for balance. _Move to the door_, he growled at Han. _The ship is a tree length behind the great rock. I will take the Skywalker._

“Hope that’s a regular tree and not a Wookiee one, or we’re in trouble,” Han muttered.

He rose and took the Princess’ arm, and for the first time noticed the shoulder of her jacket was bloody. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” she answered his unspoken question. “Or I will be once we take care of Luke.”

He nodded and helped her rise from her cramped position. He showed her the handhold and folded his hand over hers, tucking the small fingers gently around the metal. 

She raised an eyebrow at the gesture but kept her silence. Then the little ship landed, the door whooshed open, and they were running. 

Leia sat next to Han on identical pull-down seats in a cramped side passage in the _Falcon_, moisture filling her eyes as she gazed at Luke. He lay like a broken doll an arm’s length in front of them in the ship’s med-bunk. His torso was bare to allow the bacta pad Han had placed under him to start healing the appalling lacerations on his back. She rose and pulled the blanket up to keep him warm, covering as well the deep purple bruises over his ribs and on his stomach. One tear escaped to fall, glittering, onto his bare shoulder. _Damn,_ she thought. _He has to be all right._

At least the _Falcon’s_ medical sensors had been able to tell them there was no internal bleeding. Leia noticed that Han hadn’t relaxed until after he’d seen that scan. 

Han leaned back against the wall now; in his exhaustion he looked ready to slide off onto the floor without even noticing. Leia perched again on the edge of hers as if by her attention alone she could make Luke get well.

They hadn’t risked staying on planet long enough to get medical care for Luke; Major Morhis might be reasonable, but they’d decided to leave Triandor immediately, before anyone else found out they’d escaped. They were now safely in hyperspace and a day’s travel from Yavin and its medical facilities. 

Leia finally broke the silence. “You’re worried about him.” She half turned on the little metal seat to face him. “He seems to be stable – the med center at Yavin will take care of him.”

He sighed. “You don’t sound completely convinced of that, Princess.”

She dropped her head onto one hand. “I know it’s true, but I was so afraid …”

“Not everyone will be taken from you, Leia.”

She tilted her head toward him, refusing to allow another tear to fall. “How do you know? How _can_ you know? We almost lost him.”

He touched her arm lightly, briefly. “The universe doesn’t work that way. You lose people.” He hesitated. “And then you find others.”

She studied him, wondering if the lines in his face came not from late nights and wild drinking sprees, but from another, older pain. With sudden insight she said, “Like you’ve found Luke.” 

He leaned back against the bulkhead again. His voice was so soft she almost didn’t hear his response. “Yeah. Like I found Luke.” She couldn’t tell if he was glad or upset over his newfound friendship with the young Jedi.

“But he’ll be okay. We got him out in time. _You_ got him out.”

He didn’t answer.

“Han … what is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

She saw the muscles in his jaw clench, his brows furrow in anger.

“Kardek,” he said, but didn’t go on.

“Kardek’s dead. He can’t hurt Luke any more.”

She grew suspicious when a smile of grim satisfaction flitted across his face. “Han? Kardek did die from the fall off the scaffold, didn’t he?”

He replied almost casually. “Nope.”

She swallowed. “You killed him. In the heat of battle.”

“No,” he answered. “I deliberately and with great pleasure choked the life out of him. You have a problem with that, Your Worship?”

She tried to reconcile his actions with everything she’d been taught to honor, everything she was fighting for. Fair treatment, due process …

She shook her head in confusion. “You didn’t have to kill him, but you did anyway? 

He was an Imperial officer, the Empire would have—”

“The Empire did nothing! They knew what he was, and they didn’t do a damn thing.”

Aghast, she rounded on him. “You can’t just go around killing people because you think they need it! That’s what the Empire does – we can’t turn into them!”

“I’m not part of your Alliance, in case you forgot, sister. I answer to one man and one man only – me!” He rose and stepped to Luke’s side and adjusted the blanket with a gentleness she suspected he wasn’t aware of.

“There are rules, Princess,” he continued grimly. “There are lines you just don’t cross and when someone does and the system doesn’t take care of them, then you have to decide if you’re gonna let it go or do something about it.”

“And so you become jury and judge.” She turned away, somehow disappointed in him.

“Hey,” he turned swiftly and caught her arm. “I believe the system should take care of these situations, just like you. But it fouled up here, and this guy was just too dangerous to leave running around. Sometimes you have to ask yourself, if not me, who? And if the answer is no one, then, well …” his voice trailed off and he rubbed his good hand over his face.

“Interrogation, torture … these are part of the Imperial way, Han. I know. After the Death Star … Alderaan… ” she choked on the name and now she was the one who could no longer speak.

He stretched his good hand out to her, his hazel eyes searching hers deeply. Slowly, resisting but needing, she took his hand.

“Tarkin and Vader are dead, Leia,” he said softly. “I can’t do anything about them. And what they did to you, as bad as it was, was political, military, to get information. It was within the rules. But what that … _slime_ … did to Luke. That was personal.”

She searched his eyes deeply. “What did Kardek do?”

He sighed and evaded her gaze. “I don’t know exactly. But I saw the kid after. He’s young, I hope he can set it aside.”

“Han,” she started, but was interrupted by a soft moan from the bunk. She rose quickly and in a step was at Luke’s side, Han right beside her.

“Easy, kid,” he said, “it’s all over. You’re safe now.” He placed a reassuring hand on Luke’s arm, but quickly lifted it when the kid flinched. “Damn,” he said softly, and turned to Leia. “You try.”

Her eyebrows drew together in question, but she moved closer to Luke and placed a gentle hand on his forehead as she spoke. “Luke, it’s Leia. You’re on the _Falcon_, Luke.”

But he just moaned again and turned away from her touch.

“Han?” she asked, bewildered.

But Han was in the passageway, halfway to the lounge. “Chewie!” he bellowed. “Get in here!”

“What are you doing? There’s barely room for us.”

“Then one of us is gonna have to leave, sweetheart, and I’m afraid it’s gonna be you. You can come back just as soon as he wakes all the way up.”

Chewbacca loomed in the passageway and hooted questioningly just as a raw wordless cry rose from Luke’s throat.

“Yeah, get in here. You gotta wake Luke up.”

The Wookiee stepped aside so the reluctant Princess could leave, then moved to the Jedi’s side. Chewie spoke the softest sound Leia had ever heard from him. Just a single syllable. He gently turned Luke’s head with his hairy paw and she was amazed at the tenderness of this creature who only hours ago had been terrifyingly berserk. He spoke the word again – Luke’s name, she thought – then turned to Han and let loose a volley of quiet syllables. 

“He wants the galana tea he left on the holochess table,” Han relayed to Leia. Grateful to have something useful to do, she was back in a moment. Chewie slipped his left arm under Luke’s shoulders, raising him slightly, and held the aromatic tea to his lips. Whatever he said seemed to be working because Luke swallowed automatically and blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut. Leia noticed that he didn’t pull away from the Wookiee as he had from Han and herself.

Han held his finger to his lips and motioned her out into the main passageway, following closely. 

He swam in velvet darkness, comforting, comfortable, safe. Until raised voices tried to drag him back to a world of confusion and degradation. He tried to sink deeper into the darkness, but the voices were insistent. Pain refused to let him retreat, but that was nothing to the images that returned, the physical memory of tender unwanted touches, followed almost with relief by the burning lines of fire laid across his back.

He felt a touch on his arm – _Han? NO! Kardek!_ – and recoiled.

He heard a soft voice, a woman’s voice – _Leia, help me!_ – but no, she was far away. Kardek had played that game before. He turned from the gentle touch, sickened.

But it was all so real … what was truth … what was reality?

He knew reality. It was Kardek’s hand on his shoulder, caressing, squeezing; it was Kardek’s voice in his ear _…save you … even now … I can save you …_ and he was falling, twisting; the words, the voice echoing on and on …

A cry of agony and fear burst from his throat. He searched for that safe dark harbor again, then heard a different voice. Not human.

Wiry arms lifted him and he could feel the soft and silky hair that stroked and soothed his bare skin. Aromatic steam teased his nostrils and when a cup was touched to his lower lip he drank.

Was he in Kardek’s chamber still? No, it couldn’t be. It was nothing human that held him, that called to him in gentle barks and growls. No Imperial would tolerate a … Wookiee … and with the word came a name, an awareness of his surroundings. A ship. He could hear the slight rumble of a hyperdrive. He was safe.

He started to shake.

Chewie continued to hold Luke close in his strong arms as the young man trembled in a series of near convulsions. The giant Wookiee stroked the blond hair as if this shattered human was his own cub, and tried to comfort him. After a very long time Luke’s shivers grew less and finally he leaned heavily against the warm, furry chest. Chewie gave him another sip of tea then laid him gently back on the cot. He tucked a second blanket around his shoulders and whuffed quietly. 

Luke’s voice was raw and fatigued and he had trouble keeping it from fading in and out. “I’ll be all right … think I’ve got it figured out … the lies … what’s real … just so tired …”

Chewie patted him lightly twice on the chest, and Luke smiled faintly in return. 

“I’ll stay put,” he croaked. “Tell Han … thanks? He’s a good friend.” Chewie helped Luke turn onto his side to relieve the pressure on his back, and almost instantly the young Jedi faded to sleep.

Chewie nodded in satisfaction and dimmed the light over the med-bed. Yes, Han was a good friend. And it was good that his partner had found another human he would call by that name. Han would never formally win his bet – they wouldn’t be leaving the Rebellion for a long time. But he had won something far more important.

Han had escorted the Princess to the holochess table and gone to the replicator for hot drinks. He set a carafe and two mugs on the table, then slid onto the bench beside her. He sighed heavily. 

“Why did we leave Luke?” Leia asked. “He needs us to be there for him.”

“He needs us to _not_ be there right now.”

“Han,” and her voice was laced with steel this time, “I saw the marks on Luke’s body. I watched Kardek on the scaffold. I lived through an Imperial interrogation; the torture, the hallucinatory drugs. I can’t help Luke if you don’t tell me what they did to him.”

He turned away, but she pressed forward. “What’s going on? This doesn’t make any sense. I know you want to be there with him, I know it’s about killing you to wait out here.”

He gestured dismissively, but she ignored the movement and waited. The silence worked.

“You were right. I was worried. I _am_ worried,” he said. 

“With reason, apparently, but why?”

“Kardek did more than beat on Luke. I don’t know what games he played, but he messed with the kid’s mind. One of the last things he said to me was that he’d ruined him – broken him.”

“But that’s not true,” she protested. “He’ll be fine—”

He interrupted her with a savage gesture. “You saw him in there. He couldn’t handle having a human around, couldn’t stand to be touched.”

“Because Kardek …” she stopped and wrapped her arms around herself, chafing her arms in the sudden chill.

“Yeah.” Han’s expression changed from anger to hopefulness. “Maybe when he wakes up a little more …”

And that was really all they had right now. Hope. 

She swirled her drink around in the mug and thought about the arrogant smuggler seated next to her. He’d sworn that he’d rescued her from the Death Star only for the reward. He’d taken on the original mission to Triandor for the money as well. She suspected that he’d accepted this rescue mission for some similar reason – that there’d been something he thought he’d get out of it. But somehow Luke had gotten through to him, somehow he’d reached into Han’s soul and found the heart there. She understood now, probably better than the Corellian.

They sat in silence for a long time. 

Han had just finished bandaging the Princess’ shoulder where the board from the collapsing scaffold had struck her when Chewie finally entered the lounge. Han rose quickly. 

“How’s he doin’?”

The Wookiee padded softly over and sat next to the Princess. _I cannot tell. The doctors on Yavin will be able to heal his body, but I do not know enough of human minds._

Han paced across the small floor. “I won’t let Kardek win, Chewie. There’s gotta be a way to reach him.” 

“Go to him, Han. He trusted you to pull him out of there, he’ll talk to you.”

He looked at her, torn. He didn’t want to do anything to make the kid worse, but they had to try something.

“Go,” she repeated softly. “It’ll be all right.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then grabbed the tea-therm from the table and headed aft.

The kid was lying on his side now, and he had a little more color. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was deep and steady, relieving Han’s worries a little. He pulled one of the little seats down again but this time sat forward, elbows on knees, hands hanging uselessly between and toying occasionally with the lid to the therm-pot.

He was contemplating the cast on his left hand, wondering how long it would be before the medical droids on Yavin would remove it, when he became aware someone was watching him. He looked up to see Luke regarding him somberly. 

“Kid…?” A world of questions and pain were in the single word.

“I’m … okay, Han.” He paused. “Or close enough.” His thoughts seemed to shift somewhere else, some_when_ else. 

“_Luke?_” Han said sharply.

Luke slowly focused on Han again. “I knew you’d be back,” he said softly. “I don’t know how I knew, but it was the only thing that gave me any hope.”

Han reached and took Luke’s hand once again in the Corellian grip of friendship. Luke didn’t pull away from his touch this time. “You needed…” he swallowed.

Luke nodded when Han didn’t continue. “Yes, I did. And you came.” He looked down at their hands, the strength of the Corellian’s fingers wrapped around his own weak grip. “Thanks.”

**Epilogue**

Morhis had known he would have to account for allowing Kardek to be killed, but he’d never dreamed he would have to report directly to Darth Vader himself.

Scrupulously honest, for he knew better than to dissemble to a Sith Lord, he baldly stated his explanation for his apparent disloyalty.

“Sir, Colonel Kardek was widely hated by the populace, which interfered with my ability to provide the materiel needed by the Empire. I knew that, by allowing Solo to kill him, I would be seen by the people as a reasonable man who would treat them fairly, yet would not hesitate to punish those who required it.”

The deep voice seemed to echo even through the holographic technology. “And how did you come to the conclusion that one of _my staff_,” and the emphasis on those last two words was frightening, “was deserving of your justice?”

Morhis kept his military stance rigid and his voice calm by sheer military training. “Insanity is not an efficient management tool, my lord.”

“Indeed?”

Morhis took the single word as the command it was. “Kardek’s treatment of prisoners has always been on the edge of what could even remotely be considered acceptable, but his obsession with the young rebel, his torture of him purely for his own gratification, were not the reactions of a sane mind. There was nothing Skywalker could have told—”

_“Skywalker?”_

Morhis knew with that one word that Vader had lost all interest in Kardek. “Yes, sir. The boy said his name was Luke Skywalker.” 

Vader remained motionless, and Morhis wondered what rapid fire calculations were being made in that incredible mind. Finally, the Sith Lord spoke.

“You will speak of this to no one, _Colonel_ Morhis. You have my personal authority to manage the Empire’s affairs on Triandor as you see fit. If either of these rebels appear in your jurisdiction again, you will notify me, personally. Do you understand?”

Morhis gulped. “Yes, my lord.”

Vader dissolved the holo, but just as the Dark Lord was fading from sight, Morhis could have sworn he heard one last, strangely satisfied echo … _“Skywalker!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Possible trigger for off-screen torture with sexual overtones.


End file.
